


The Diary of Jane

by moroder



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Child Neglect, Dark Past, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Foreplay, Hurt/Comfort, I don't really like happy endings, I'm a sucker for soft sex, M/M, One Shot Collection, One-Sided Attraction, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, Smut, a big bunch of ramblings about feelings and such, although their timeline doesn't have this term yet, bittersweet overall, but don't let this mislead you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moroder/pseuds/moroder
Summary: He burnt all the pages; yet there he remains, the stagnant one.Rated E for dark topics and smut.A collection of Medic+Soldier centered oneshots. Most tags and warnings apply to a single chapter, except for second person POV. Started out as two small chapters, went downhill pretty fast but the ride is exciting.
Relationships: Medic & Soldier (Team Fortress 2), Medic/Soldier (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	1. Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is sort of an experiment as I wrote this entirely in English and not like I usually do (I write in Russian and translate stuff into English then) and I also was very moody and there's something about second person POV that gets me. Also this will probably be mostly bitter and one-sided, but who knows.
> 
> The title along with description is a reference to Breaking Benjamin song. Some of BB's songs have embodied the Medic+Soldier relationship for me and it hurts. The tags also include both / and & as some chapters are closer to bromance actually. I guess. It's complicated.

The first ever thing he gives away to you is a cigarette pack. It’s surprising to see as you never expected the man to smoke, but you don’t ask. You don’t do that much either, it’s just a little something to get the stress off when your throat is already too sore to scream it out loud.

You do ask, however, why this exact brand. He shrugs and admits that he actually knows nothing about brands and bought the first one he saw down the road. “My physique leaves little room for interfering with something as harmful as lung cancer,” he smiles, “and operating on myself is still sort of… Troublesome at very least.”

He did manage to change his own heart back then, though. You remember it from time to time as you smoke the cigarettes gifted to you. They taste worse than ones you occasionally borrow from Spy; they are thicker and tend to unroll if not tightly held, as if produced in a hurry. You can do with it though; not that you are a picky smoker. Spy grimaces with disgust every time he sees you take out the pack during breaks, and you grin in response.

You like to think that it’s taking effect on your lungs. He was sort of reluctant while giving you the cigarette pack, explaining it with worries over his teammates’ wellbeing. That was weird to hear from him, as he never minded Spy’s excessive smoking and Demo’s continuous hangover, but then he went ahead and spoke his worries to you. About you. It’s been a long time since someone was genuinely worrying about your health, and it felt embarrassing. Back then and now, all the same.

Exhaling the smoke, you think back to that day, filled with hope that he wasn’t serious. That you’re still another file on the desk, and that is fine with you. Change in the files, well, change is inevitable, and one day he will have to replace your folder with someone else. Just please, don’t let it be stagnant. Success and glory don’t stand a chance in face of stagnancy. They fade just like they come, fast and unforgiving.

He seems irrational and chaotic to the enemy team, but you and your comrades know how rule-abiding he could be sometimes. He was okay with stagnancy if it didn’t interrupt his research and cut him short of body bags.

He is an enigma, a well-tangled series of knots all tied to each other with no visible pattern. Nevertheless, he gave you the first string back then while offering you an unexpected gift.

You pulled it and swallowed the bait because why not. Your whole life built itself with the same motto. Why not. Inhaling too much smoke at your last breath, you cough violently, causing Spy to turn sharply. The French offers you a decent cigarette from his own case, and you agree to take one, to your own surprise. Comparing to them, the gifted ones taste like regret and doubt and antiseptics, and you honestly wonder if that’s the reason they are so awful.

You have almost finished the pack by the moment he tells you why exactly he bought them. It’s been a short period of time. He’s been lamenting that you began to smell like cheap tobacco, though it didn’t sound offending. It was more like expressing disappointment.

“I’m sorry for that gesture a week ago. I should have just got rid of the damn cigarettes.” He sounds so mournful, it’s almost like he speaks his last words above your grave because you died smoking what he gave you. You barely hold a snicker.

“But! I have a better option this time. Take a look.”

He holds out a hand in the same manner as before. Like showcasing something in a small box, maybe a medal. This pack looks very different from the one you keep in your right pocket right now. It even smells different, or better said, it doesn’t smell at all, comparing to your own. Seeing your wordless question, he sighs.

“Nein, it’s not my preference. Like I said, I don’t smoke at all, even though one would consider starting, having a team like this.” He often scolds your teammates but does so almost automatically. No feeling. You’d give him a proper lesson in hatred if needed, but he never asks.

You take the pack from his palm, and he looks visibly relieved. “You see, it’s the head in my fridge. The one that refuses to die and continuously asks for a ‘proper cigarette’. I tried to give it something out of morbid curiosity, but as you see, there was little success. It asks for better ones. This second pack isn’t good, too.”

You really do want to come down to his laboratory, swing the fridge open and stick the contents of both packs into the Spyhead’s mouth. Lit or unlit, either did the trick. He pretty much expects you to do that. It’s a silent exchange until he speaks again. “Anyway, I asked Herr Spy for a cigarette advice, and the brand he suggested is far too expensive for just a passing experiment. I don’t think nicotine exposure would be the worst thing to experience as a head with no body, haha.”

He sounds so lighthearted that you forget the question you had, namely about how a head was supposed to breath without lungs, let alone smoking cigarettes. The new pack you’ve just received feels too white and tidy in your hand, and you hide it in your pocket before it gets unbearable to watch.

Despite the fact that he didn’t have to blindly spend money anymore, you feel kind of sad for lack of future cigarette gifts. It’s not about less spending: you already tried buying the ones Spy carried around, and smoking them just didn’t feel the same. Taking one or two from a teammate was a completely different thing. Some other form of intimacy between people. Medic no longer had to buy cigarettes, so your non-spoken gifts would be cut short, too.

It surprised (and amused) you greatly when two weeks later he knocked on your door at the base and fished something out of his coat pocket, sliding it through the barely open door. This pack strongly smelled like ethanol, and by far, this was the most promising gift.


	2. Request

Pyro was amazing at handicraft. One could hardly suspect them of that, as the most common stereotype among their team (and the opposite one, too) was that Pyro cared about nothing but destruction. It was true with a small addition: they were absolutely barbaric and merciless when it came to battlefield. They did also behave in quite a bizarre way while out of battle, but it was no match for the chaos they ignited while in.

The first time you saw Pyro crafting something was back in your first winter with the team, as they exchanged several Christmas gifts and Pyro’s was a striped scarf they gave to Engineer. It was a neatly knit warming piece, obviously created with great care. How Pyro managed to do that unnoticed, as they were mostly found near Engineer’s quarters, was still unclear to you. Clear, however, were joy and pride in Engie’s posture since those holidays as he ran around the battlefield with his ever-present toolbox, wearing his gift.

Much to the team’s chagrin, Pyro’s interest in knitting died away pretty soon, but they didn’t stop crafting – they just switched the direction. This time, it was small plush dolls in form of literally anything: animals, friends, enemies… Pyro even offered their crafts to their teammates and suggested creating additional pockets for so-called ‘pocket buddies’, although the team largely hesitated. Engineer was once again most enthusiastic, having a large pocket on his belt, and soon he entered the battlefield with a voodoo-like Spy doll dressed in opposite team colors. It had a couple of pins sticking out of its ‘heart’, and while this was purely cosmetic, the enemy Spy seemed to become more reluctant to harass his archenemy; Engie had a theory that his counterpart spent too much time memorizing the doll so he could get himself a similar one. He even jokingly suggested Pyro to make the enemy an offer about crafting the same doll of another color, but the firefly clearly wasn’t so hot about the idea of helping the opposite team in any fashion.

Nevertheless, the idea of commissioning them to craft something was a better one. You began contemplating it as soon as Pyro created another plush for their own use; this time, it was a simplified copy of Engie wearing a hardhat, crafted with great precision despite its simplicity. As Pyro’s pockets were closed all the time, like your own, they kept the doll stuck at their belt at first, and after a few days you noticed that they attached a large pocket very similar to Engineer’s to the belt. The little pocket Engie now resided there, proud and always sporting that little amiable smile.

Pyro captured their friend’s character so well that you thought of a request. They probably weren’t that close with Medic, but you could still try and ask about it.

They were actually surprised to hear your request. You could understand little from their usual giggles and muffled mumbling, but it sounded almost like they expected another person to come down and ask the same thing. Not at all taken aback, you said that Medic would rather ask them to craft a pocket copy of Heavy, not the other way around. They seemed to be nice friends, but to you it looked like Medic was the one who treasured their relationship just a little more. Wonder what you had to do to earn the same kind of relationship, too.

It was, in fact, no wonder. This way just proved to be easier on your thoughts when they started to eat away at you. You just can’t be as good as that man, no matter what. You’re less rational, less sane and most probably less gentle. Even in battle your teamwork is not an easy subject, given your trait to shoot rockets at your feet while Medic just… couldn’t. He’s different at everything. You literally couldn’t come up with a single fact that would team you up, and that was exactly why you tended to push your thoughts away and strangle them until they dissolve.

Pyro waited patiently for you to regain composure. For a solid minute you forgot you were standing in front of them. They went on talking in a less excited tone and you could make out more words this time; they asked about sizes and colors, about some other technical difficulties, such as where you were supposed to put the doll lacking open pockets. You shrugged it off, suggesting to just sew a new pocket straight onto your coat, and you even told that you’d to that yourself. You were actually half-good with handiwork, it’s just that you despised crafting. It required imagination and patience, and your whole share of patience ended at making stitches so that they don’t break on the first tug. Making a single pocket could fit into budget, you presumed.

While being skilled at crafting, Pyro still suffered from something all artistic people experienced from time to time: lack of satisfaction with results. You found it out completely unexpectedly as you came down to their workshop and saw through a slightly open door that its owner was burning something. It wouldn’t be a big surprise while talking about Pyro, but this time something seemed off.

On the battlefield, Pyro turned things to ashes with sheer joy. Despite their face being covered with a mask and body hidden underneath a baggy protection suit, one could still see the delight they radiated and how they literally lit up with excitement. Even fresh out of respawn rooms, they were always like a firework that went horribly wrong and obliterated the whole launch field along with all its oblivious watchers. When they got to demolish something with Demo or Engie, they always shared the exploding enthusiasm, probably imagining the unwanted machines to be the enemy team. No matter what that was in their eyes, it felt amusing for them.

That’s why you became concerned this time. Pyro wasn’t giggling or clapping or jumping at place while burning something – they were covering their face with gloved hands in defeat.

You wanted to come closer, then you remembered that you were an intruder and knocked on the door that you’ve already entered. The workshop owner turned around, and even though you couldn’t see their face from behind the mask lenses, you felt the dread coming at you. It was the first time you saw Pyro in such low spirits. You approached immediately.

There it was, the reason for their gloom. A half-finished plush figure, slightly disfigured, lay on the table in front of Pyro; its upper part down to chest was smoking, clearly just burned. Judging by the part that remained untouched, it was the doll you requested to make. Even though it was seemingly unfinished, its current state was already so detailed that you couldn’t look away. Even those little details on Medic’s boots that he used to wear throughout the last half a year and tiny buttons… You didn’t know what were they made of but Pyro would unlikely tell you right now.

They sighed, pulled a bucket from under the table and swept the doll and some other trash into it. Their lighter accidentally fell in too but they didn’t seem to acknowledge it. You didn’t manage to ask what’s happened – Pyro started talking ahead of you. Their mumbling heavily resembled sobs this time and you only made out a couple of words. They burned the doll because they didn’t like it, that was the main thing you got from the slurred muttering, and that was a fact you found infuriating. You took the plush out of the trash bucket and went on rambling about its details and overall quality, and it seemed to cheer Pyro just a little bit. At least they were no longer sobbing.

From what you heard in their next speech, Pyro was very unsure of their latest handicraft. Adding to their growing anticipation to their own works, your request was the first thing they would do for someone specifically, not just give away something they already had. They were so scared to fail that their anxiety destroyed what little they had to maintain a positive attitude about crafting. You hurried to ask whether it was too much to ask for a Medic plush as Pyro wasn’t particularly close with him, but they waved you off. It didn’t matter, they said, the inspiration did.

At the end, you talked them into finishing the doll. The burn damage wasn’t that serious, it could still be repaired; also according to Pyro, the doll’s face was the last thing they were going to create, so there was practically nothing valuable destroyed. You thanked your goddamn fate for ending up here just in time that Pyro hasn’t burnt down the plush completely.

It took the firebug another whole week to finish it. You didn’t rush them, but it still looked like they spent all their free time at the plush. Despite their tremendous fear to fail and make something you’d dislike, they came up with something you’d never expected to get.

It wasn’t just a plush of Medic, it _was_ Medic. Maybe you started seeing things, but to you it looked like a pocket childlike version of him. You felt like it was going to start talking to you any minute. Pyro did a wonderful job. Such a wonderful job that, at the end, you asked them for another doll that would be more simplistic. You just couldn’t take this little pocket Medic to battlefield, it would be outright barbaric.

You didn’t put the second Medic plush in your pockets as well. You never added an extra pocket to your coat as previously planned, too. It just didn’t feel right, and after a while, you asked Pyro to give it to Heavy. This slightly dampened the disorder in your thoughts, the disorder you have issued yourself. The first, restored Medic sat above your bed, on the shelf among self-made medals and other important inspiring stuff you kept close. Medic plush wasn’t inspiring for you though; it sat there just because you could watch it and make sure it still didn’t come alive.

* * *

It watched you, still as always, piercing you with button eyes as you walked through the door of your room. You didn’t look up at it like you always did before. You knew what you would see and you couldn’t bring yourself to.

You sit down on the floor by your bed, still fully dressed. The ominous plush now drills back of your head with its dead gaze.

Dead, dead, dead gaze. His gaze would never meet anything, anymore, anytime.

They relied on the respawn system so much that they almost forgot they were not immortal outside of battle. You have always considered yourself made of steel no matter what, but even you, likely least cautious of all mercenaries in your team, were kind of afraid to die. Each time at respawn felt like another chance. A chance you unlikely deserved, some would say.

You would give all those chances away if only it could help. If only it could contribute and talk him out of that goddamn trip. The whole matter smelled like rotten canned fish from the start, but he didn’t listen. You tried, but as usual, your loud words made no sense to him. As his car was found empty in the nearest town, you silently cursed at that Russian for not talking sense into him before the trip. You were only left to blame, nothing to do, nothing to change. You hated it. Situations when you were unable to do the slightest thing infuriated you the most.

_Look what you’ve done. Look what happened because of you all, you oblivious bastards. He’s dead._

You didn’t go to see the scene, and that was probably the best for your melting mental health. Engie told you later that it was such a hot mess, they’ve spent a good minute trying to figure out the one they were looking for. It didn’t help that he was dressed like a civilian, just another body among almost twenty others. They did succeed eventually though. His face was burnt to bone, as if someone shoved him face into fire just like water.

You and Pyro exchanged meaningful glances as you heard the news from Engineer. You were both speechless, and for a good reason. Even now, you could easily remember the hesitation in their movements as they took the damaged plush out of your hand and dusted it off. They felt it wasn’t worth finishing. The burn wouldn't just go away.

The doll sitting above your head on a shelf isn’t damaged. It is as untouched as ever, looking at you from behind its glasses made of wire, almost mocking. You can’t take it anymore, so you take it off its throne. Now it lays motionless in your hands. You can swear you felt it snickering just a minute ago. Or maybe your hands were trembling too much as you grabbed it.

You have some spare needles tucked away in case of emergency stitches, so you take them out of a cotton reel and thrust them one by one into the plush. You aim for its nonexistent heart, just like Pyro did with that enemy Spy doll, although neither of them were voodoo dolls. Your needles are different from those cheerful-looking yellow pins; they are hard to stick into the plush’s coat fabric, but once pierced, it goes right through.

If he were still alive, it would hurt like hell. But he was dead, and it hurt like hell, indeed.

It was your fault. You never stood your ground when it came to him. You just took it as a fact that you two were too different to understand each other peacefully, and at the same time you couldn’t bring yourself to scream everything into his face. Even if you did, he would just fix his glasses and say something along the lines of “I thought so”. He never thought much of you, and it was pointless to try. But it was even more pointless to give up.

If only you offered backup and company. Or followed suit in a stealthy manner. Spy would surely snort at these words, but it was none other than you who succeeded at it in days of massacre. It wasn’t your best trait these days, but you could surely give it a shot.

And you didn’t. You sat there helplessly as it unfolded. Swallow the guilt now, dripping from you, thick and coagulated.

When Pyro knocks on your door and peeks in, you’re still awake and clutching the little Medic in your hands. The needles came through your thumb long ago, but you don’t feel it anymore.


	3. Symbiosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ending bugged me very much but this current version feels okay for me now  
> ______  
> after writing the chapter that turned out to be over 8k words long, I decided to put Symbiosis into one chapter (it was chapters I and II previously because I thought it was too long and divided it in two, but I don't care about chapter length now so what's the deal anyway)

A steady soothing beat of rain echoed through the warehouse. Adding to overall lack of sound sources, there was no living soul inside, save for you. Just checking in to make sure no enemy Spy made it to your base. Some called you paranoid for mandatory spychecking, but you were sure that it paid off somewhere at the end. Others just didn’t quite pay attention.

You found no one, again. You tried to make noise as you walked around, both to spook the possible intruder and to chase away the clingy silence in the air. Silence was something you likely hated the most. It was already around midnight, but lack of any action still annoyed you. Too still. Even though it was raining heavily and your teammates would unlikely even stick their noses outside. They were no match for you and your will to march on under any weather conditions, of course.

Finally, you moved on. One day you will drag one of them snoopers by the scruff of his neck and shove him into your team’s faces. One day, you’ll show them.

The library was just another wooden structure nearby, and as the rain became almost unbearable to leisurely stroll under, you covered the distance in several leaps, nearly slipping into a puddle. The building’s metal roof didn’t make rain much softer but it certainly helped in covering you from disaster. You inhaled the dusty air of this bookshelf-filled place but kept yourself from exhaling loudly. There was someone else in here with you.

You took out your shotgun again and swung your head around cautiously. You knew it all along! He’s actually here! He won’t get away this time.

Slowly moving towards the entrance to another room, back against the wall, you almost stopped breathing. There was so much dust in the air that it moved along with you, and even though there was only one pretty dim light source, it could easily give away your position. You had to be quick, or he would.

There it was again, the sound; papers rustling and silent muttering. You could’t come closer to this room next door without revealing yourself but you also could’t make out the exact words. It just sounded like grunts of dissatisfaction, nothing else. Was he looking for something? Then he was distracted and it was time to make a move!

You jumped out of your hiding spot and screamed your lungs out in hope to startle the intruder. The whole situation felt so much like battlefield in your head.

The man you’ve actually scared to death turned around, holding a couple of books in one hand and a bonesaw in another. The lightbulb above his head has seen better days, but even in its dying light you could see that it was not a Spy.

“Do not shoot!” Medic yelled, shrinking like a raccoon found in a trash can and holding his precious loot closer. You sighed and put down your weapon.

“Out of all people I expected to see at this hour…” you started, but then he smiled so awkwardly and apologetically that your accusatory speech cut off immediately.

“I know, I know. It’s very late to be here… yet again, we both are.”

“I have a reason,” you stated dumbly. “Why library? Don’t you have enough books in that… hospital thing of yours?”

“Oh, it’s not medical matters that are pressing on, it’s different.”

He looked so unsure that you had to encourage him. “Come on then, doc, spill the milk.”

He sounded way more embarrassed this time. “I was looking for some literature on chess. Do you possess any, just in case?”

“I don’t. Haven’t you read what I gave you last time?”

“Ah, I’m afraid _The Art of War_ contains nothing on the topic I need…” He shrugged, hands still occupied, and holstered the bonesaw to his belt.

“How _come!_ It contains any information you’d ever want!” you instantly flared up, and to prevent the building and books catching fire with you, Medic hurried to speak.

“I didn’t mean that it was insufficient… I guess I just wasn’t educated enough to absorb what’s given,” he smiled again, obviously in attempt to dampen your indignation. It worked, just as always. “So I’m looking for some… extra sources of information. It can’t be that a school library contained no books about chess!”

The building you two found yourselves in used to be an enclave of an old school nearby. At this battle site, your team’s base just so happened to be in place of that school and other warehouses around; for example, Engineer’s workshop resided at the local assembly hall, now lacking endless chair rows. Medic had a lesser luxury in terms of taking up space this time, but he didn’t complain. Not that you heard of. This library was one of the least damaged places, somehow retaining a massive amount of books; this scenery must’ve been abandoned fairly quickly.

Medic put the books he previously held onto the shelf while you mused about the place’s past. He sighed and took another chunk of literature out of the bookshelf, and then you approached him and touched his shoulder.

“Hey, I… think I can help you.”

“Really?” He lit up like a sun among the rain, only that it brought no rainbow.

“I could… maybe teach you something I know myself.”

“Oh, you play chess?”

These days you didn’t, but you used to in the past. It’s been a while since you had a living partner instead of a cardboard figure so it certainly didn’t help your experience, but you still suspected the good doctor to be worse.

“I’m a bit rusty nowadays, but huh. I'm the leader of this team, I _have_ to make you better!”

“Oh, that's just _wunderbar!_ Can we start tomorrow then?”

You rolled your thoughts around in your head for a couple of seconds, figuring out whether it conflicted with your own plans. Turned out it didn’t. All in all, it would be highly unlikely for something to happen that you’d turn down Medic’s suggestion to see each other.

* * *

It was fairly late when you met each other in the infirmary. That day turned out especially unlucky for your team; you’ve lost three rounds in a row and only managed to properly fight back at the fourth attempt. So none of you were in a good mood, as even the ever-merry Engineer had his high spirits shoved face into mud. It also continued raining throughout the day, and while this wasn’t really an obstacle for you, it somewhat hindered your teammates’ progress. Most of them kept silence in the evening. You despised silence, but this time you could do little about it.

“Ah, there you are, mein Freund,” Medic said in a sour but still cheerful tone, seeing you open the infirmary doors. “Please put your jacket on this hanger, it will dry much faster.”

You didn’t mind wearing wet clothes, but one usually doesn’t reject the host’s suggestions. As you walked through the cold empty halls of his local lair, you heard the low monotonous hum becoming louder and louder, guessing it to be one of Medic’s stationary Mediguns, the one he kept in-lab. To your surprise, you two were actually heading to the operating room instead of Medic’s office; he pushed the doors open and held them for you so you could pass too.

“I’ve arranged a small… battlefield for us here. Take a seat, bitte.” He waved a hand around the operating room, and you saw a table that used to contain surgical tools, now occupied by a chessboard and a set of figures set for playing, and a couple of chairs by its side. Seeing a tint of confusion in you, Medic asked cautiously, “Something’s wrong?”

“Why the… operating room?”

“Oh, it’s just a common place to play for me… You see, Heavy feels better in this bigger place rather than in a tiny office, so we used to sit here. I’m in the right mood in these walls, one would say.”

Ah, _Heavy._ You totally forgot to ask why the German suddenly felt an urge to get better at chess, but the answer came out of him without your questions. Heavy never told you about his habit of playing chess, and it’s not that you’ve ever asked. You two mostly talked during setups and evenings, discussing the strategy for upcoming day. No personal matters involved.

“If you play chess with Heavy, why don’t you ask him for help?” you asked, a little perplexed. Medic’s face fell a bit, and he turned away. He seemed reluctant to answer. Your question was logical, indeed. Why not ask your probably best friend out of whole team?

“I… I thought that reading books would help me out, but as you see, I found none. Then you so kindly offered help, and now we’re here.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you said with a frown. He breathed deeply and faced you again.

“In terms of tactics, I consider you to be better.”

That was probably a lie, you couldn’t tell. A fair share of things Medic said was cheerful lies because he only told the truth to those he fully trusted. You didn’t consider yourself one of those.

Medic’s strategy was correct. Blinded by praise, you’d never think that his pride was cutting too deep to just ask Heavy for help, even though the Russian would be pleased to; Medic would also never tell you that it was his own choice of room to play in and not Heavy’s, so that his Medigun would be close and ready. You’d never see his bruised knuckles and various walls in the room getting bumpy from angry beating. This information would contribute nothing to you, so he never said a word. Everybody’s got secrets.

“Well,” you finally said, “that’s deserved praise. Can’t help that one. Let’s get started, then.”

He wasn’t as good in learning as you hoped him to be. Sometimes he hissed something in obscene German, and you clearly saw that he was about to turn over the chessboard. However, he never did. Truly a gentleman’s behavior.

Time became just a concept, and the sun was already slowly rising when the two of you decided to call it a night. Sleepless nights weren’t new for you both, so you barely even noticed how six hours passed by. For Medic, it was a hard and entertaining time of learning advanced tactics you came up with; for you, it was a session of recalling old tricks you learned in chess club back in middle school. Since Medic wasn’t even remotely a match to you, you didn’t put much effort into playing, so most of the time you were just watching him. His concentrated gaze, his tense shoulders and clenched teeth as he hypnotized the chessboard, hovering his hand over white figures, finally deciding to make a move, then refraining from it and going back to thinking position. He was trying his best, you could see it.

“It was fun,” you said with clear satisfaction as he closed the board with chess figures inside. He turned and pierced you with his sky blue gaze as if you said something undignified.

“You’re giving in,” he spoke flatly.

“Oh.” _Shit._ You didn’t expect him to notice. “Is it important?”

“For learning process perhaps not, but for my dignity – it truly is.” He turned away again, approached the lockers and put the chessboard inside one of them. Then he continued, still his back to you, “I’d like to ask you to stop.”

“But it’s-”

He turned sharply and interrupted. “Soldier. It’s only personal. Do me a favor.”

You shrugged, still not entirely sure why he would want you to play in full force. He’d still lose, what’s the deal? You didn’t want to anger him though – not any more than you’ve already angered him through today’s matches.

“Okay.”

It was 6 AM by the time you left the infirmary. By usual standards, you already needed to wake the team and run the morning exercise routine. But you felt like this time, they could hang out a little longer. You enjoyed the morning and felt as fresh as ever, even though you haven’t slept a single second.

* * *

It took whole three weeks before Medic finally achieved a stalemate in a game with you. As he asked, you quit giving in and focused on playing instead of staring at your opponent; it mowed him down at first, but as evenings passed by, his confidence only thickened, and by the last couple of evenings you even noticed that while you made another move, Medic didn’t fall into deep thinking; he giggled and went on to examine the field instead. He maintained positive thinking, that’s the spirit. That one stalemate took him four hours. When you finally admitted the situation to be terminal and suggested to shake hands, he did it most enthusiastically and jumped up from his seat as you rose from yours too.

“Mein Freund, that was stupendous!” he exclaimed, holding your hand with both his palms. “I can’t believe I actually half-beat you!”

“I just agreed for a stalemate,” you grumbled softly but stopped there, seeing just how excited the doctor was. “But yeah, right, that’s a progress. You’re a lot better these days, doc. So we meet tomorrow as usual?”

“Ah, actually I thought…”

His face fell, and you immediately thought you said something wrong. But it was the usual phrase you uttered each time you finished your evening chess meetings. Exactly the same one. Could it be…

“Since I’ve reached a better level of skill in this… maybe I don’t need these tutoring evenings anymore. You did a good job and I think it’s time to go give it a field testing.” He spoke as softly as he could but it still had an eerie effect of trying to cover the truth.

“That _is?”_

“Well… playing chess with someone else.”

Someone. Very special someone.

“Why… don’t you just stay with me then?” you asked out of sheer curiosity at first, but as you continued, reproach grew in your voice. “I’m not a weak opponent and you’re not one too, now that I gave you some training. Didn’t you…” you paused at loss of words, “enjoy our matches?”

“I most certainly did!” he exclaimed and waved his hands, reassuring. “It’s just… remember why I asked you to teach me better chess in the first place?”

You remembered it perfectly, but why wouldn’t it just change throughout those three weeks? Three weeks when there were just you and him, so perfectly isolated… Then again, maybe those three weeks were different for him? Maybe he didn’t enjoy them at all, wishing for it to pass as soon as possible? It could explain why his results became so much better last week…

Were you alone enough to make him stay?

“Yeah, I do.”

Yeah, you weren’t.

“I’m sorry I have to put you out like this…”

No, he’s not sorry. He’s just saying this to make you feel better about your sorry ass, you reminded yourself as you pushed the operating room doors. It’s good that your helmet covered your eyes in awkward situations because at that moment you didn’t want to see anything. Before you stepped outside, Medic called out from behind you in a hopeful voice.

“Perhaps we could play from time to time… Your style is very different from Heavy’s, and diversity is always good to have, you know.”

You muttered something among the lines of _'time will tell'_ and left. Good times for all.

* * *

Long gone were days of rain, mud and sadness; crisp white snow and fresh winter air of Alaska have now taken their place. Even though it was heavily snowing sometimes, it still felt better than rain. It was lying around and making it harder to run through the battlefield, but it felt fresh and clean. Your whole team seemed to agree, save for Pyro who must’ve seen snow for the first time in their bizarre life and tried to ignite it with a lighter. When they failed, they became angry at the substance and began kicking it around, much to Spy’s gloating before Engie came over and elbowed him in the ribs.

With lower temperatures marching on, most of your team changed into a warmer set of battle uniform. Same color to tell a team easily, but an additional level of clothes or a thicker version of them. You could do well without it but Medic insisted on everyone warming up so there’d be less work for him trying to cure respiratory infections that would inevitably engulf the team. He also suggested having more hot drinks or at least utilizing a flask of alcohol for emergency warmth restoration.

“It’s hell of a job to keep you all on your feet, but if it’s mine, I’ll do my best,” he muttered after another match as he watched Scout drink a full mug of sweet hot tea in short gulps. The runner glanced at him cautiously from time to time but seeing that Medic was still there, he went on sipping with defeated look.

Scout spent that evening down in the infirmary, and thank God this time it was a better place than the previous one. It was actually a decent facility, although colder looking - but then again, everything was colder around here. Medic once again instructed the young Bostoner to dress up accordingly and ranted on about medicine and treating common cold; Scout wasn’t really listening all the time. He was just relieved to be released and to leave the doctor’s lair. Truth be told, most of them felt uneasy in the infirmary. Maybe because of its unwelcoming insides and patients’ organs stored in glass jars; maybe because of the good doctor himself.

You didn’t find him or his company repulsive but even so, you spent less time down there with him. You didn’t mind him on the battlefield – on the contrary, Medic was always needed everywhere around the map at any moment – but you almost stopped visiting him privately. It felt better for both of you, that’s for sure. You considered yourself to be a burden on Medic’s shoulders during that period you tried to make a decent chess tactician out of him, so getting rid of you was clearly a benefit.

For you, distancing was a dire need. For you and your fading sanity, that is. Those several evenings you two spent in the operation room proved to be rather harmful for your thoughts and overall efficiency, so the best decision was as always keeping away. Medic tried to reach out for you a couple of times, asking whether you needed any help and if you were interested in another friendly chess match. Or anything friendly at all. You remembered to not get too involved in conversations with him, and your answers were always short and simple. _I’m fine, doc. Not this time, doc. I can do myself, doc._ But the truth was you couldn’t do, and you’d never admit this.

A whole month passed before you finally decided to break the ice you’ve yourself frozen. Come on, just a single friendly talk. Ignoring your feelings was a convenient way to live, but humans were weak and you were still human, too. You’d never say that out loud to anyone but you were weak. Didn’t mean you weren’t tough in battle and doing your job though: you did it just well. The team had no complaints. But even the strongest machines broke if left on high performance mode for too long. Your inner machine hasn’t been on inspection for quite some time, and by inspection one meant personal contacts.

Completely disregarding the fact that Medic could be occupied with patients or his own personal visitors, you made your way through the late snow towards the lone steel building. It was a blizzard outside that day but it didn’t stop you. Nothing could ever stop you, so why would weather get in the way? You didn’t even bother closing your winter coat as you marched on, probably sure that common cold cannot get you and you’re invincible with all your current self-confidence. That’s why, as you’ve reached the terminus and threw the doors open, you were wrecked beyond belief.

Still wearing the snowed-in coat, you went through the waiting hall straight to the operating room and found no one inside – just some doves cooing peacefully on a Medigun barrel. Seeing you, they took off in a white flurry, flying higher up to the ceiling. You looked up and saw at least half a dozen birds sitting there already, probably exchanging opinions on the visitor. To hell with doves, they weren’t the person you looked for.

As you stood in the operating room, the snow that blocked your ears during your trip already started to melt, and you heard a faint sound of music coming from somewhere around you. The more snow melted, the better you heard this strange cheerful tune. It sounded like vintage dance music. You turned your head to its approximate source and went straight there. It was Medic’s office.

The door was open, and even before you fully emerged from darkness, the doctor looked up from his papers and tilted his head around cautiously, likely catching the sound of your footsteps. Not a problem: you didn’t try to hide your presence anyway. He was wearing his usual indoors uniform with an addition of something resembling a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and a couple of doves sat at them, looking at his work. He also lacked his glasses. His overall position looked like he was working late, but the tune that was now obviously heard coming from the office and lack of glasses suggested that he was having a short rest. You didn’t have time to think about all that as you rushed in, snow and water dripping from you along the way. Medic looked at you like a startled pigeon, then took his glasses and put them on.

 _“Mein Gott,_ have you seen yourself?!” he exclaimed and jumped up from the papers. The doves instantly took off, landing on a locker nearby. “Where have you been, to hell and back?”

“I’ve been outside,” you answered flatly as he proceeded to get you out of the coat and look for a place to put it so that it would both dry out and do least damage to floor. As he ran back and forth through the place, you came closer to look at the papers. Nothing out of ordinary. You couldn’t understand most of his handwriting, but there seemed to be nothing peculiar in his notes. By the time Medic came back, you were sitting in front of his table like a patient that came for a health advice; he returned to the office with a steaming mug and gave it to you before wrapping his blanket around you and sitting back down.

“It will lessen the chance of catching cold for you,” he explained, putting his hands together. His face was very serious. “To think that you came outside in this weather… Was it something important that made you come here?”

“I wanted to see you,” you answered simply. The truth. He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I understand, everyone comes down here for that. But why exactly?”

It was a little later that you realized that your answer was ambiguous. “To see y… I mean, to talk.”

“Oh. You couldn’t wait for storm to die out?”

“Roger that.”

“Fine, bring it out then, mein Freund.”

He still called you a friend even though you behaved like the worst possible one. Whether he was just being polite or really meant it, he sounded very soft. Like he was waiting for you to come eventually, tear through any weather just like you did, covered in snow. That’s what everyone expected from you, and you never failed.

“Soldier? Are you still with me?” Medic called out. Were you silent for so long that he had to speak up?

“I’ve got a favor to ask for.”

“Oh? Interesting, now what’s that?” he chuckled, clearly ready to dissect someone.

“Can you dance?”

This question seemed to catch him off guard. Medic slowly threw himself back in the chair and put his hands on knees. Finally, he smiled awkwardly.

“I can… a bit… but why?”

“Can you teach me?”

 _“Gott im Himmel._ Is this why you came here at this hour, through the worst blizzard of this season?”

“Yep.”

That wasn’t entirely true. You had no idea what to talk about as you headed here through the snow, and extra minutes of being apart from Medic didn’t help you much. You just wanted to see him, you told the truth back then, no subtext. Talking wasn’t really your strongest side, you did better with yelling; thinking about topics to discuss was an even worse subject. While Medic was rushing to find you some heat and you sat alone in the office, save for those doves eyeing you suspiciously, the dancing music was still playing. It sent a weird feeling down your spine; you rarely listened to tunes like this one, and none of your other teammates really listened to any music at all. Engineer used to have a radio on the old bases, some of those you’ve been at about a year ago, but even then he listened to some country songs you didn’t quite understand. Wasn’t your genre, Engie said. He respected your opinion on music and turned it down whenever you entered his workshop, since there were no stations that would broadcast something to your liking. Others weren’t really keen on listening to music, though you heard Demo trying to play bagpipes from time to time, and it sounded just as bad as his posture was sometimes.

That being said, listening to dancing music threw you off. You slowly felt your body beginning to wobble lightly to the rhythm; then you caught yourself thinking that you never properly learned to dance. Sure, most people didn’t need to learn dancing in order to shake their body around, and you were one of them. But as Medic asked you about the reason of your arrival, you pulled the very first string you saw. It was the _‘why not’_ part of your life record again.

Medic still processed you request, judging by the way he looked at you. Certainly he was perplexed by the way your brain worked, straightforward and simple, but he knew that already from working with you for a whole year, so why would that be a surprise?

Finally, he rose from the chair and glanced at the clock. 11 PM wasn’t very late and didn’t feel late, too.

“Fine. I admit, your request is unusual. But chess was weird enough too, I guess.” He chuckled, came over to the music emitting corner and pressed a button on his radio. The tune stopped immediately. “Any preference in dance styles? Because if it’s a dance for two, I’m best with waltzing, and if-”

“For two,” you blurted out almost instantly. Medic turned to you with a puzzled expression again.

“Now that’s interesting. Is there some beauty downtown you want to impress with your dancing skills?”

You were silent in response. He didn’t press on.

“Very well. Let it be waltz then… Have you ever tried waltz? It’s simple, but if you haven’t, it’s fine. Join me, I’ll show you the basics.”

You didn’t expect him to start right off the bat but it was probably even better, because if you were given a chance to retreat and come later, you would probably never return. This wasn’t the course you chose to follow, and you were certainly not a coward. So you stood up too, removed the blanket, put your half empty mug on the table and stepped closer to the doctor, accepting your fate.

Comparing to your chess learning situation, the tables have truly turned. If the good doctor had at least some playing skill at the start, your pair dancing skills were awful. Even though Medic was somewhat more patient with dancing then he was with chess, you kept screwing up, most likely building up tension inside of your partner. He said waltz was simple to do, and you didn’t quite know whether he lied to lift your spirits or you were just bad with dancing overall. Every couple of minutes he hissed from you stepping on his feet, every other couple of minutes he stopped and started counting anew. One-two-three, one-two-three… It sounded almost like a lullaby.

In the end he grew tired of this and asked you to continue counting. It almost sounded like marching but with a broken rhythm and third additional beat. For some reason after you began counting, your progress sped up significantly; maybe it was easier for Medic to adapt to your speed and rhythm rather than make you adapt to his. He was still leading the dance though, keeping to your steady tempo. You made a good metronome, and Medic even began humming a tune while circling around the office.

You got so used to it after a while that you didn’t notice him fall silent. You kept counting though. _One-two-three, one-two-three._

“It’s actually strange that you decided to come,” he suddenly spoke up, taking a step back. You made a step forward as the beat ordered. _One-two-three. One-two-three._ “Because I reckoned we fell apart at some point. Somewhere around time we’ve arrived at this place.”

 _One-two-three._ You didn’t respond, keeping the crucial count in a lowered voice. You both stop if you stop. The engine. _One-two-three._

“I rather enjoyed the time we spent together and… it's a pity that we parted ways back then. Honestly I’d… never expect you to open up at such angle. That you could actually be different from what we saw everyday.”

 _One-two-three. One-two-three._ You mindlessly stepped around, following his moves because most part of you was busy processing what he talked about.

“I cherished those moments, mein Freund, and honestly… it would be really nice to bring them back… your opinion is perhaps the same since you approached me first?”

 _One-two-three._ He suddenly stopped at _‘three’_ and looked you straight in the face. You fell silent.

“Soldier, talk to me. I cannot lead the dance if the partner doesn’t participate.”

You still looked down, jaws clenched; even though you didn’t look him in the eyes, you shut yours tight as if that would cut out an overflowing information source. Medic let go of your hand, the one he led you by the whole time, and tilted your helmet back, opening the upper half of your face. In any other situation the one doing this would undoubtedly lose their hands in the very next moment; no one was authorized to touch your headwear.

But you just stood in that same position, feeling all tense and exposed. He grabbed you by the shoulders then.

“Look at me,” he pleaded weakly, almost lost. _“Open up to me.”_

It took you another whole minute to begin talking, and Medic waited patiently. “Is it hard to express for you?”

“It is.”

You finally opened your eyes, blinked a couple of times, your gaze still down, and then looked up at him. He seemed worried, more worried than ever. You often saw him being very expressive, whether it was in the middle of war, letting out proud battle cries as you won another round, or it was in casual situations when he laughed maniacally upon experimenting or hissed with dissatisfaction, losing another chess match. Even though usually serious, maybe even menacing, he wasn’t a chunk of ice some believed him to be.

The storm roared outside. It was already well past midnight but the blizzard still raged on. Its results would be catastrophic at morning. Would they even be able to come out of their base, drowning in snow? Would you be able to leave the infirmary at all tonight?

“I don’t even know if my words will give out correctly what I want to say,” you muttered, averting your gaze, and Medic sighed with a chuckle.

“Just talk. We’ll figure it out.”

 _We’ll figure it out._ Words of magical effect. They often lifted the weight off someone’s shoulders, sharing it with someone else. _You’re not alone. We’re in this together._ You took a deep breath, and the _one-two-three_ counter in your head stopped completely. Then it’s time.

“I… really enjoyed spending time with you, too. And ultimately I was… well, since we’re getting straightforward here, I was disappointed when you told me you no longer needed it.”

“But I didn’t say I wanted us to never meet again,” Medic frowned. Then he added at once, “Oh, but you’d likely felt too bitter to process it correctly.”

He put the words _‘you were too mad to think’_ in such a decent way. What a charming man.

“Yeah, likely,” you dropped in response. “I felt horrible after that. Blamed myself and others and ultimately called you out for another evening. You must remember…”

“I do. I lost to you three times in a row,” he chuckled. “My dignity really suffered losses, didn’t it.”

“I thought it would make me feel better, but it didn’t,” you went on. “It felt even worse. Like you made yourself do that, put up with me for that whole evening. Then some time passed, I thought another try wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

“And it was?”

“Yeah, I gave up after that one. But it still felt wrong, as if I wasn’t supposed to feel this way, you know… Why would I feel bad without seeing you and then seeing you and then…”

“Like a drug,” Medic mused. You glanced at him, and he explained wistfully, “You take a dose but you feel symptoms of withdrawal soon after its effect wears off. Similarly, meeting me felt like a dose for you, then withdrawal gut-punched you, and even though you knew it would further bring you problems… you craved for another dose.”

You delved into his interpretation. Although filled with metaphors, it sounded closest to what you actually felt. “But doc… A drug you say, what kind of drug does this? Making people wanna see each other?”

Medic tilted his head and squinted, looking you in the eyes. The answer was obvious – to him, not you. He contemplated whether he should tell you too or leave you in ignorance; his face expression changed into a quirky one, something you’ve never seen before.

“It’s not actually a drug, rather a combination of hormones and other chemicals in human brain… Related to emotions, mostly.”

“Oh,” you said bluntly. So it was a part of you. _Great._ “Do I have to get rid of it? If it acts like a drug. The shit drugs do to people sometimes…”

“It depends on whether it does any actual damage to you. And whether it brings anything good into your life.”

All this medical metaphor talk drove you deeper into confusion. Medic sighed with a tired smile.

“You said that you enjoyed meeting up with me before," he said. "Do you think you’d still enjoy it now?”

“I… guess so, yes.”

“So would I. That means you don’t have to feel bad about it, and this _‘drug’_ is completely harmless to you.”

“So I don’t need to cut it out of myself?” you asked cautiously.

“Of course not! There are severe cases when this would help, but yours I think is not one of them.” He patted your shoulder lightly. “This drug is harmless to most of humans, to be honest.”

“You mean it’s a known one? It’s got a name?”

“Oh, sure. It’s called sympathy,” he simply said and winked at you. It felt highly surreal and enlightening at the same time; the final meaning reached you only now, and you frowned.

“I thought there was a dangerous substance inside of me! Couldn’t you just say it was an emotion?!”

“I’m sorry, it was just too fun to see your reaction… Morbid curiosity, you know.”

This short outburst shook you a bit, throwing you back into your usual wayward self. You scoffed and pulled your helmet back down, over your eye level again.

“This won’t do you any good next time, Dr. Trickster,” you muttered, pointing a finger at Medic’s shoulder, and he laughed.

“Should I be afraid and barricade my infirmary?” He stopped for a second and continued, “On the second thought, I don’t think it’s that much required. With all this snow, one wouldn’t even exit this place, save for entering.”

“Really?” you boasted. “I’d go out there and toss the freaking snow around like enemies in battle!”

“Oh no, you _wouldn’t,”_ Medic wagged a finger at you, suddenly very serious in tone. “You came here through a blizzard, I can’t let you get out without proper dry clothing, and it’s still snowing. I can’t let you fall ill in these conditions!”

“Oh come on…”

“I’m serious, Soldier. Rather than submitting yourself to hypothermia, you could just stay here overnight and see the outcome at morning. If we’ll be able to open the doors, that is, haha.”

“Stay… here?”

“Unfortunately I’ve got only one sleeping place to offer, but you know, I rarely use it anyway. Take it,” he waved to another doorway in his office that led in direction opposite to operating room. “There’s a small room, you’ll identify it easily.”

“And you?”

“Ah, I still need some paperwork to be in order, so I’ll stay. Don’t worry about me, it’s my usual schedule… heh. Gute Nacht, mein Freund!”

It was a new place and you couldn’t sleep well. Usually you’d just make yourself shut your eyes and dream sweet dreams, but this time your will wasn’t strong enough. You didn’t press on yourself. There was too much to think over, so much that your thoughts constantly jumped ahead of each other before you could process them, so you forced a blank screen over them. Didn’t quite help, but dampened the disorder a bit.

You heard Medic humming a tune from his office and wings flapping from time to time. It almost felt like a lullaby, although it had no effect on you. When the humming stopped completely, you left the not so comfortable sofa and sneaked back into the office. Of course, Medic was asleep at the table. You didn’t think long before you picked him up as carefully as you could and carried him over to the sofa. _You gotta work on you schedule, doc,_ you thought as you watched him curl up like a dog in its owner’s bed, hugging a pillow.

There was one more bed-like place to sleep at – the operating table. But you thought that you could do well without a place at all. You sat on the floor near Medic’s sofa and rested your head near his. This time, you fell asleep fairly easily.


	4. Malfunction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not evident but this chapter was mostly inspired by Ego Brain song by System of a Down. the whole song itself is veeeeery much about tf2 ships, so give it a shot ;-)

You felt something was wrong from the very beginning. The way you’ve respawned for the first time, less organized and hands trembling, the way your other teammates behaved for several minutes after leaving the resupply cabinets. It just felt… unnatural. Not that the Respawn system was natural to begin with, as it cheated death.

At the end, you decided to ignore those obvious signs of malfunction and ventured out to the battlefield like you did everyday. They weren’t the same without you, they needed you like oxygen in breathing air: a small but essential component needed to keep the team living. No doubt you enjoyed getting kills on your own too, but this strategy often led you to death, leaving the others without a viable teammate. And the respawning process proved to be rather unpleasant lately, so you tried to stay alive as much as possible, however weird that sounded.

No matter how well you did in the heat of battle, you kept waiting for an incident. A single thing that would gut-punch you and break the rhythm. It crashed into you so brutal and fast that your morbid anticipation didn’t have time to resolve itself.

Truth be told, you liked it most when your feet held you firm and right, not being launched into air by explosives or airblast pushes. It was an easily achieved virtue while working side by side with Heavy, but he wasn’t the only one you had to support. Demo and Soldier had a remarkably stupid (in terms of self-damaging) but effective strategy of shooting explosives at their feet and using it as a speed boost. Usually you tended to stay a little away from your patients to make sure that enemy Sniper wouldn’t get you two lined up for a double headshot with his newly acquired Machina, so your teammates’ explosions didn’t affect you greatly, but sometimes you happened to be close and oh boy, you despised every case of it. The sickening feeling of being airborne disoriented you all the time, no matter how long you experienced it. Your projectile-shooting teammates however found it most exciting and appreciated their fellow doctor being by their side as they landed; it was the only positive thing about blast-jumping affairs – they thanked you for staying with them.

It was no different this time. You decided to stick with Soldier for the next push; with his tendency to detonate rockets into his face, building an Übercharge was relatively easier. He used his usual habit of rocket jumping and you could only follow, trying to stick as close as possible without severely damaging yourself but also staying on Soldier’s course. He shot another rocket at his feet, flying high into the skies and ready to blow up the enemy Engineer’s nest right under his feet; you gripped the Medigun handle, fighting the usual nauseous feeling in your stomach.

A loud thunder banged through the battlefield, and you saw the rocket launcher suddenly falling out of Soldier’s hands. Oh that _verdammte_ Machina!

This split second was enough for you to understand where this was going. But your Medigun’s healing beam was still connected to the patient, meaning that he was alive despite the devastating blow that penetrated his shoulder. You got lucky to stay unscathed in this, but this would change quickly as you started losing altitude. You were close enough to Soldier so that you could grab him and hold him closer as you fell. There was no sign of imminent danger under you so you quickly came up with a plan.

It wasn’t a perfect landing. Usually when you were blast-jumping with someone, they tried to help and break your fall, sometimes even by allowing to land on them. This time there was no one to help, and you held a dead weight along with your Medigun. Well, it wasn’t dead yet but fairly close to being one. You landed awkwardly on a knee, wincing from pain, but pain wasn’t important, you needed to move on. Looking around, you calculated the shortest possible route to a safer location; you heard Pyro cheering from around the corner, then you saw them running towards the sentry nest and noticed something peculiar about them: as they passed you, they held a hand to their head, as if experiencing a headache. Oh great, that Respawn problem seemed to be worsening.

Your own problem was different though. You managed to get up while still holding Soldier and your Medigun lying on his chest and dove into the nearest tunnel. You remembered that enemies rarely used it and you could probably get some peace there.

Soldier was unnervingly quiet the whole time. It bothered you as you got used to him constantly shouting or making at least some sort of noise. Loud Soldier meant normal Soldier, no matter how loud. But he was silent now, and it ate away at your hopes. As soon as you saw a dry chunk of ground, you stopped immediately and put your burden down, grabbing the Medigun at once and pulling its handle. However, it no longer locked onto him. You panicked slightly; if he was indeed already dead, why didn’t the Respawn system pick him up? Usually it took roughly half a minute for the dead to disappear and to come alive again, and you’ve already spent several minutes running around.

If your suspicions were correct…

No, wait. There could still be a chance. Medigun wasn’t your last resort anyway, you could still find a medkit and…

You carefully put your patient down from your knees and rushed back up to where you landed; you remembered there was a medical supply kit by the western building wall… You took the locker off the wall and ran back as fast as you could. It really was a good thing that you ran slightly faster than majority of your team; adrenaline also kicked in and you’ve reached the same spot in no time.

Hell, his wound looked horrifying. You silently cursed at the enemy Sniper for receiving a new weapon as his devastating blows dealt damage faster than you could heal your team. It infuriated you to fall behind; you had to constantly choose between your good old healing gun that could no longer give proper charges and the newer one retaining the ability at the cost of lower healing rate so that it wouldn’t overcharge. Slower health regeneration or lack of invincibility?.. It meant nothing in the face of current situation though. Sometimes you scolded yourself for relying on a Medigun too much; those rare cases when it failed hurt your pride.

Soldier lost a great amount of blood already. If someone were to look at him now, they’d unlikely tell his team by his uniform, that’s how blood-soaked it was. He lied still as you exposed the wound and examined it. Your first aid actions wouldn’t do much better but they also wouldn’t kill.

When he stirred, groaning in pain, you almost dropped the antiseptic bottle. It certainly brought you some relief to see that he was still alive, given that he didn’t show any signs of it save for very weak pulse, and the Respawn hasn’t picked him up to this moment. If – you shuddered at the thought – the Respawn was truly malfunctioning, Soldier was walking on thin ice.

“I… can’t move,” you heard him wheeze. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t die on me,” you answered hurriedly, tossing the bloody cotton pieces aside. “Please refrain from moving,” you added as he tried to reach out for you with his good hand.

“So this… isn’t heaven, huh?”

“I’m afraid the only place we can go is hell, mein Freund. Good news – we’ll go together. And not today.”

You spoke like it was nothing, just another scratch, but deep inside you were scared. You’ve had people die in your arms before, both because of you and other factors. Here in the middle of Gravel War, your teammates also kept dying in packs, but they always came back. No hard feelings about anyone’s death. You could sit with them after the fight’s end and discuss the day casually. _Oh, you got your head smashed in with a guitar? And next time they pushed you off a cliff as you pushed someone else before that?_ Dying began common for all of you, so most of your teammates quite possibly forgot to worry about it.

Your efforts were fruitless. The trauma was supposed to kill Soldier in one shot but it played this wicked joke on him, leaving both of you to suffer longer. You refused to give up and fiercely tried to come up with another solution, anything to delay the inevitable, but everything just seemed to crumble. Seeing your agony, he slowly raised a hand and touched your elbow.

“Hey doc… I’m dying, right?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “you are. I’m sorry, I just… I’m trying my best but I can’t seem to…”

“Usually when this happens, I’m not living up to this moment… I mean, it kills me instantly.”

“I know. But this time it didn’t and I’m almost positive that,” you held it for a second, “that ultimately you may not respawn at all.”

“Oh… You sure?”

You huffed and turned away. You hated being helpless. Always seen as the savior, the remedy, you just sat there hands down. How pathetic.

“Doc… _Medic_. Hey, you know, even if this is death… It’s an honorable death after all. Side by side with a friend and not shot against a wall like some weakling.” He punched your hand weakly with a painful smile. “You did a good job.”

You refused to take it. Death? Nonsense, death couldn’t get its filthy hands into your job! But what could you do anyway…

Soldier closed his eyes slowly, still smiling, trying to lift your spirits till the last breath. You didn’t notice when it came; you just held onto him and let thoughts wash over your mind. How little time you had to get to know him better and how you’ve squandered it all. Too busy. Too tired. Too embarrassed to start a conversation. Too scared of what he’d think.

_Too late._

You tended to push it back in your mind. You had no time for stuff like emotional dependence at all, let alone developing one properly. So it grew like a tumor, a non-lethal cancer you kept neglecting. It happened like that again, and again, and again. You never changed, but perhaps this time it was necessary to give in to any side of this spectrum. Either fall into the deadly pit of not subduing your emotions or dispose of them completely. You could flick this switch at any moment, but ultimately you were afraid that in pure darkness you wouldn’t be able to find the switch again.

Keeping yourself from looking at the dead teammate in your hands the whole time, you finally lowered your head and saw, to your surprise, that you were alone.

You flinched. Were you hallucinating? No, blood all over your field coat was certainly real and not yours. The empty medkit lay by your side along with your Medigun. But no signs of the body you were holding just a couple of minutes ago. This could only mean one thing.

Your tumor would live on for a little longer.

Suppressing the moment of dismay in your mind, you staggered to your feet. Your knees were still in dull pain from emergency landing, but it just needed a bit of running around and you’d be fine. Not dead, at least.

You saw Soldier on the way to enemy control point, as alive as ever. He looked way better without a gaping wound in his shoulder and deathly pale skin color. You waited for him to approach; he rocket-jumped to you happily and began rambling about his shock to be respawned when he finally died and how he was sure to never wake up, how Engie told him that Respawn's been acting strange, making people live for several agonizing minutes longer when they were supposed to be carried over to Respawn system already, and that he'll have to look into it after the round ends. Soldier's stream of words ended abruptly when you embraced him affectionately, silent and calm although there was a lot you would say, too. Not in these circumstances with everyone around.

“Doc, you okay there?” he called out cautiously, patting you on the shoulder. You pulled away finally after these words.

“I’m just… Really glad that you made it. That Respawn worked after all. It would be shame to lose someone like you," you said, voice almost trembling.

“Oh, I could say the same ‘bout you!” he exclaimed proudly. “We need to get going. Five minutes left, I heard. You with me, sweetheart?”

“Always,” you uttered, taking better hold of the Medigun handle.


	5. Foundling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole chapter sounds like Medic and Soldier are in sort of established relationship, this wasn't intentional but everyone can have their own way of interpreting idk

It all started on a dusty October morning, as a loud _thud!_ of your infirmary doors announced a visitor and two voices added up to it, completely breaking your sleep.

As if an early guest wasn’t enough trouble, you seemed to have overslept. You weren’t enraged or upset about it, rather perplexed about the reason; you always set your alarm clock at 6:15 AM no matter how late you came to sleep the previous day, and this time it didn’t sound off. Hastily dressing up on your way, hair all messy and glasses crooked, you hurried to meet the visitors.

One of the voices was gruff and adult and excited, easily identified as Soldier’s. Isolated, he wouldn’t make a novelty early in the morning as he often woke you a little earlier than others, giving you some extra training. It was a long-running arrangement, taking place ever since he pointed out that you had to be in a better shape with all the running you needed to do around the battlefield. Fortunately, your body managed to adapt and react positively despite your age; you didn’t consider yourself old, still quite lively and lovely, but Soldier was right about need for exercises. He was also proud of your progress although constantly pushing you further beyond your limits, but that’s what the battles did, too.

You glanced at the wall clock as you paced through the waiting hall and saw, to your horror, that it was already half past seven. That also meant Soldier wasn’t here to take you for additional training, it was something else; otherwise he’d do his best to wake you by shaking the living hell out of you, and he didn’t.

“Dooooc?” you heard him call out with audible disarray. His voice drowned in another sound, so fiercely desperate and helpless that you braced yourself for worst. It sounded like a crying child.

The voice sources seemingly moved closer to your location as you ran to the entrance, and finally you bumped into them not far from their starting point. More accurately, you bumped into Soldier’s shoulder which felt like a blow into your chest, making you recoil a bit. He hastily grabbed you by an elbow to keep you on your feet, and you were once again taken aback by his reflexes.

“You okay? Sorry, didn’t see you coming,” he huffed, and you waved it off.

“It’s fine, I’m just… what _im Himmel_ is that in your hands?!”

A question most likely rhetorical, since it was clear as a day. Soldier carried a kid with his other hand; the little girl was crying uncontrollably, her face all red from tears and possibly outside sunburn. Her wailing was so loud and continuous that you wondered for a second whether she utilized a second breathing system, because from what you could tell she was constantly yelling, not stopping to breathe in. She was dressed quite lightly despite middle October weather but this didn’t seem to bother both her and her savior… if he was a savior at all. You frowned, staring at your teammate.

“Please do try and explain WHERE did you find her,” you started, arms crossed.

“Oh I just came out for a daily morning run. You know, outside the base, far away from here.”

“At what time did you-”

“So I went on my usual route,” Soldier continued, cutting you off, “that’s alongside the local road. The one we came here by, remember?”

“Ja, I do. Did you race with the cars that pass by?” you asked with a yawn, provoking no response.

“I almost finished the road part of today’s run when I saw someone on my side. Another runner, I thought, could it be an enemy team member? I came closer and saw, well, this.”

He pointed at the child in his hands who was still crying, though her grief seemed to have subsided at the moment. Soldier didn’t even have to shout over her voice to be heard.

“You picked up a little girl off the road? In the middle of nowhere?!” you gasped. “Jane, I-”

You made an indefinite movement with your hands, unable to continue speaking. Sometimes Soldier’s decisions truly stunned you with straightforwardness, but this was probably the most prominent case. The child in his hands suddenly looked up from his shoulder and stared at you with eyes wide open, wiping snot from her face with her cardigan sleeve. She fell completely silent, causing both of you to look back at her.

“Yes?” her carrier said immediately, shifting her weight on his shoulder a bit so that he could see her face more clearly, but the kid was looking straight at you. He didn’t stop at that. “Hey, say something!”

She just kept staring so you shook your head and turned to Soldier again. “Did you… even ask her what’s going on? Or you just picked her up and ran back? Was she at least crying already or did she start because you took her away?”

“She was!” he responded with slight resent and continued a little softer. “She stood there all alone for miles! Just so you know, not a single car passed by during my trip. Neither before or after I found the kid.”

“And what if her parents came back just after you took her and headed to the base?” you asked with already fading frustration. Soldier looked at you with confusion. Apparently he didn’t think about this, but if one had to reconsider the situation… A child was left all alone on an empty road where nobody would usually roam – except for Soldier but he was an unplanned addition to the scene. Besides, it would’ve been around 7 AM already when he saw the kid. Who in their right mind would leave their daughter on the road and just drive off, why not take her with them?

“Na schön. Why did you bring the young lady here? To me?”

“Oh.” He scratched his head dumbly. “Aren’t you good with kids?”

“I honestly wonder where did you gain such notion,” you giggled with visible uneasiness.

“Look, just… Here, take this.” You barely managed to outstretch your hands and Soldier handed – or better said, threw the child to you; she looked startled by the action and instantly held onto your shirt, clutching it weakly. Before you had a chance to respond, the man straightened up, saluted at you and smiled. “Time’s running and duty calls. You can manage, I’m sure.”

“But-”

“It’s an order!” he added in a more irritated tone. “Don’t forget, I am still your commanding officer.”

“But the battlefield, Kamerad!” you helplessly coughed. “How am I supposed to leave her and follow the team?”

“You don’t. We’ll manage just fine,” he waved you off in a most cheerful manner. You would begin rambling about how they barely survived without you for a couple of minutes, but Soldier was already gone without even saying a proper goodbye. The only thing you could do was to watch him go and exchange glances with your burden. She seemed to have calmed down completely by that moment and was looking around the room with childish curiosity. This day was off to a promising start.

* * *

By the time you’ve washed up and made yourself and your little unexpected guest presentable, it was already half past eight. Not that this child was poorly dressed, but her clothes were so wet with tears and full of road dust that you decided to change her into something else. All your clothes were too big a size for her, but you lacked any other source of clothing save for towels, so at the end you gave the child the smallest dress shirt you could find. Actually they were all the same size and the choice didn’t matter; the sleeves were so long for her tiny arms that one could wrap them around her and tie them up in sort of straightjacket fashion. You suppressed the wish to do that as soon as you saw the girl swing the sleeves around. Seeing the shirt being actually as long as her original clothing – she was dressed in a pretty little pink dress with a cardigan over it, - you added a tourniquet as a belt to the shirt. It actually looked cute. At least the kid was pleased with it, nothing else you could ask for.

You remembered how you nervously laughed at Soldier calling you ‘good with kids’ and barely held a snicker. After all this, you’d really have to catch him for a private talk and ask how this ridiculous thought ever came to his mind. It often proved to be useless to ask him things like this as his answers were usually the same. Something along the lines of _‘it’s obvious’_ or _‘my gut spoke directly to me’_. The second version was especially hilarious if occurred after Soldier’s death from explosions or any other lethal traumas exposing his insides; it could sound horrible to outsiders, but the mercenaries were too used to respawning and have already developed quite a grave sense of humor. You were like this all the time and felt accepted in this environment. It was exactly why you couldn’t understand Soldier’s conclusion on your attitude to children – you were just… different from what you’d usually expect from this description.

The best experience you had with kids was back in your teen years when you had to babysit a couple of toddlers. It was not ideal but certainly better than anything else after that, so basically it was the only time you were willingly spending hours around children. It took place over thirty years ago. Whether this experience really left an imprint on you so visible that Soldier could recognize it, or it was simply a shot in the dark, you didn’t know. You never considered yourself a kids’ person and never before you wanted to have one; just like thoughts about family, it was shoved deep into your subconscious and sleeping peacefully along with other useless ambitions.

Nevertheless, there she sat, dangling her feet and feeling completely comfortable. It was somewhat unusual, knowing how adults from your team usually came here with sheer reluctance and only out of necessity, and this child was okay with sitting right in the middle of your operating room. No matter what Soldier thought about your ability to get along with children, it was a good idea to bring her here at least because you could give her proper medical care if needed. If Soldier was right about her being all alone for a long time, who knows what could’ve happened before… The child was all right, however; sore throat from crying but that’s no wonder. After you’ve examined her and put some notes in your pocketbook, you finally decided to try and figure out at least some information. She was someone’s daughter after all.

“So, Mademoiselle,” you spoke in a jokingly firm tone once you’ve had all set. The child was sitting in front of you on the operating table, eating you up with her hungry seeking gaze. It felt almost like you came to her headquarters to ask for a favor. You dropped on the chair in front of her and put your hands on knees, trying to look friendly and stern at the same time. “I think it’s time we exchange names. What’s yours?”

“I thought you need to say yours first,” she squinted and tilted her head. _Smart one,_ you smiled to yourself. “That mister called you Doc, is it your name?”

“Well, it isn’t, but lacking an alternative… I think you can call me Medic.”

“It’s different.”

“Ja, it is. But technically I can’t be called a doctor, eh…” She yawned, and you realized that you probably shouldn’t burden the kid with all this adult talk. “Just use Medic, will you?”

“Okay,” she shrugged, still dangling her feet lazily.

A good minute passed in silence while she was eyeing the surroundings, namely the big bad device with heart rate graph rapidly pulsating through its screen. You waited, but your patience wasn’t infinite. “And… your turn? Your name is?”

“You said it already,” she chuckled.

 _Oh?_ “Already… said?” you muttered in confusion. The kid nodded several times.

“When that mister brought me here. You said my name.”

Did you call Soldier out by his name while talking to him? You didn’t even register that but now that you recalled it, you realized why the child looked at you and almost stopped crying. Interesting coincidence.

“Jane it is, then… sehr gut. And your last name?” She stared at you with a silent question in her gaze. “Please try to remember.”

“I don’t know… Mommy always calls me Jane.” She looked up at you with visible anxiety. “When will she come back?”

“Hm? When did she leave?” You moved slightly closer and added, “And most importantly, did she leave you out there on the road?”

“I… I don’t remember it all… It was very early.”

“Yeah, I figured,” you muttered.

“She said she forgot something at home… that she’ll come back when she takes it, and then she left.”

“So she _did_ leave you on the road.”

“Yes… She said she’ll come back!” Jane shouted defensively. “Where is she? We came a long way with that mister, what if Mommy won’t find me here? What if she’s worried…”

She went on enumerating all possible situations at this hour, and you sat there in pretty low spirits despite the kid’s cheerful attitude. She illuminated the usually cold and unwelcoming operating room with her presence; a thing rarely to occur in your current occupation. The only person you would compare her to would be another pretty little hummingbird whose visit was also an extremely rare occasion. You were almost always satisfied with your conditions and supplies, so she didn’t stay here with you for long. Still, the light of a young beautiful woman was bright enough to get caught in the concrete walls of your infirmary for several days. Some said she simply brought good mood along with her, and maybe you were too poetic in your thoughts about it.

While you mused about her, it suddenly hit you. Throughout these two hours you’ve been trying to come up with any ideas about how to bring the kid in your laboratory back home or at least take her out of a military base. Your team had a phone book somewhere in the meeting room, but fat lot of help it would be to you. Now, the hummingbird was way more experienced with this sort of affairs.

Leaving Jane on the table, you headed back to your office, almost automatically picking up the phone and dialing a well-known but rarely used number.

“Pauling here!”

“Guten Tag, miss Pauling!” you called out in your usual trying-to-be affable tone. An audible sigh followed.

“Oh, Medic, it’s you. I’m a little…” papers rustled, “busy here, is it something urgent? ‘Cause if it’s not, I’m like, _super_ busy right now.”

“Ja, ja, I know you’re always buried in paperwork,” you answered with slight sorrow in your voice. “However, it is urgent indeed. Soldier brought a young girl to our base this morning.”

“Oh wow!” a chuckle emitted. “She’s at the age of consent, I hope?”

“Was? Oh, nein, not like that, Fräulein! A young girl means literally young… girl. A child.”

 _“Oh.”_ She was silent for several seconds. “Oh, that’s not good. Did he tell you where he found her?”

“At the road… The one going past our battle site, I presume.” You put the phone down for a moment, listening to air movement around. It seemed like something’s changed in the operating room, but it was silent now and you came back to your talk. “Miss Pauling?”

“…that goes to south-eastern part. Yes, I’m here with you,” a hurried voice answered. “Listen, there are a couple of towns that kid could come from, about ten miles away from your location. Did she cover it by foot or?”

“She said her mother was driving through, then realized she had to go back and left Jane on the road.”

“Jane? Is that her name?” You didn’t manage to squeeze your _‘ja’_ in before she continued, “And last name, does she know it? Or age?”

“A moment, bitte,” you said and put down the phone again. Then you called out loud, “Jane! How old are you?”

It was silent for a while, and it caused you to become worried for the kid out there, but then she yelled back. “Siiiix!”

You brought the phone back to your mouth to say the same number, but Miss Pauling must’ve heard the sound too. “I see. No last name?”

“I asked her and she can’t remember it. Look, could you…”

“Find information on her parents? Yeah, I’ll try a little later, okay?” Papers rustled again. “Hang in there, Medic. I hope you’re not on the battlefield with a little girl on your back?”

“Nein, I’m not. And that’s primarily the reason I need your help.”

“Fine, I’ll try my best to finish this big piece asap, okay? Maybe in a couple of hours. I’ll call back.”

She hung up before you could properly say thanks or even a goodbye. Always so busy, so productive. You sighed and hung up too. Sometimes you thought that she would make a perfect surgeon’s assistant, but you’d never be able to pay her the same share that your mutual employer did.

A deafening wailing sound pierced your ears, and you darted off to the operating room, startling a couple of doves sitting on the office table. You mentally prepared yourself for worst, but as you entered the hall, it was all the same – save for Jane holding a big bloodied piece of cotton and pressing it against her left hand fingers. Blood was dripping from them, and you couldn’t exactly tell whether she was crying from pain or from sight of red substance leaving her body. Wasn’t lethal anyway.

“Now, now, what’s happened?” you asked, coming closer. Of course you received no proper answer, so you picked her up and put her back on the operating table. She continued wailing the whole time. “Come on, be a big girl, Jane, it is nothing but a scratch! Here, look what I can do…”

You outstretched a hand to turn on the stationary Medigun above the girl’s head but stopped mid-air. This was in fact quite dangerous, it not for Jane then for you. Outside world didn’t need to know about the technologies you owned here, and what if this kid told anyone? No, you couldn’t risk that. As much as you’d want to impress her with a big badass healing gun, the safest way would be good old bandage. So you put your hand back down and looked at your patient again; a bloodied scalpel lay by her side, the evidence you haven’t noticed upon arrival.

“I told you not to touch anything around here,” you scolded the child, took the cotton from her hands and wiped her cut hand clean. She appeared to have cut only one finger, but the place and angle looked problematic and likely to not heal anytime soon. Given that she was a little child and not willing to sit and wait for the cut to heal without excessive physical activity… You sighed and wiped her hand again. The initial blood outburst seemed to be over; she did well when she pressed that cotton against the wound, and even if she didn’t intend to, it helped lessen the bleeding.

“Look Jane, I can help you in a… strange way, to put it mildly. It’ll help you heal faster, but please don’t be startled by it, okay?”

She nodded, barely registering anything, vision heavily blurred by tears. The technique wasn’t particularly new to you, it’s just your teammates didn’t really stick to it, preferring the Medigun or good old way of healing on its own. It was all about the substance you’ve added to your bloodstream several years ago; you weren’t exactly sure whether you would die or gain supernatural powers under its effect, but heaven smiled down upon you, granting your body with an ability to recover on its own after being traumatized. After you began working with a team, you’ve discovered that this self-healing effect applied to your body fluids as well. The first one to experience that was Pyro after you jokingly kissed their hand like a damsel’s and found out that the bruise in the middle of their palm has immediately healed. Since your teammates would largely prefer not being kissed (by you) in any part of their bodies, this somewhat handy asset of yours has kept a low profile.

You licked your lips and carefully pressed them against the child's little fingers. She jerked from pain but only once; it was enough for saliva to cover the laceration and start working. Just like your Medigun did in larger quantities after operating, it healed up the wound in no time. Jane watched her hand in awe, most likely reassured she’s witnessed some sort of witchcraft. As the cut disappeared completely, you wiped her hand again with a clean piece of cotton and stepped away.

“There. Good as new!” you smiled, waving your arms theatrically. She looked up at you, and then back at her now-good finger, and then back at you. No patient, legal or not, had ever looked at you like in such amazement before. Maybe you made a mistake somewhere in your life and becoming a pediatrician would be a better choice…

“You’re a magic man!” Jane suddenly exclaimed. “Mommy always told me there’s no magic… but you…”

“Ah, mein junger Freund, there is indeed no magic in this world. Only science.”

You turned away to wipe your hands with a towel. Ultimately you decided that it would be best to stay in the same room with her, both to prevent such incident from happening again and to keep her occupied with something else, more suitable for a kid.

* * *

Miss Pauling said it would take a couple of hours but she didn’t call back in three hours straight. You were slowly losing hope, contemplating the option to call her again, when a change occurred. Someone returned to the infirmary.

You heard a high-pitched voice call out, “Medic!”. This was the first time today that someone shouted it in a battlefield-like fashion, so you actually became startled that something happened in your absence and hurried to meet the visitor. You turned out to be half-right about this.

“Hey doc! Look what I brought you two!” a proud hoarse voice stated right off the bat, and you immediately recognized the source even behind the corner.

“Nice to see you again, mein Freund,” you responded wearily, leaning onto the doorway. Jane was clinging onto Soldier’s left leg, and he held a bundle in his hands, utterly happy as if it wasn’t him fighting other people just a while ago. Then again, you rarely saw Soldier being moody after fights; he was either satisfied with the winning outcome or enraged by losses and stalemates.

“How you holding up here, eh, Private Longstocking?” he teased, looking down at the kid holding onto him. She grinned with all her remaining baby teeth. “Pretty good, I see.”

“Is there a dinner break I haven’t heard of previously?” you asked, inquiring. “It’s only two p.m. and we’re usually out there till the sun sets.”

“Ah yes, I kept that in mind the whole time so I could tell you! Engie said there’s some weird crap going on with respawning. The last one took me nearly three minutes! When those cowards found out someone hasn’t respawned at all, they’ve asked to halt the battle, so here I am.”

“Those cowards, you mean the opposite team?”

“Sure thing! You’re all weaklings as well but I have faith in you.” He finally handed you the package in his hands. “Here, your dinner. Engie made it bigger, to feed this little leech, you know.”

You sighed with a tired smile. Out of your whole team, Engineer was probably the least arrogant and exasperating, always the compilation of life’s wisdoms for every occasion. You never asked him, but he’d probably had children sometime in the past. He looked like a nice father to you; a lot better than your own had been, anyway.

“How did they take the news?” you asked, unwrapping the package on the way to your office; Soldier followed suit with Jane still hanging on his leg. “How was your day overall? Without my help?”

“Oh, perfect as always!” he barked, slightly hurting your pride.

“You don’t need my support then?” you added with resentment so clear in your voice that even Soldier noticed it.

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” he hurried to come clean. “I mean we’re pretty good on our own, too! I said perfect, well I didn’t mean picture perfect, could’ve been way better, but we’re not dying all the time. As to their reaction, yeah, that’s a different story.”

“Were they angry?” He shook his head. “Surprised?” He nodded vigorously, and you chuckled. “Haha. I only hope they won’t come down here to meet our little guest. I think she filled her mercenary quota for today.”

The feeding process was surprisingly coherent. You asked Soldier to hold Jane sitting in his lap while you picked at boiled vegetable pieces with a fork and offered them to the kid one by one. It felt like a family dinner, save for the fact this child didn’t belong to any of you two, and without her your duo wouldn’t look that peaceful at all. You thought sometimes whether a couple was supposed to look united, calm and satisfied with life all the time; because in heat of battle, your duo radiated supremacy and totally demolished everything in your way, never a step back. Calm, yeah, maybe not so calm, but your job wasn’t supposed to be that way. You’d have to look into definition of being a couple one day; it’s been too long since you actually needed it.

After the dinner that took place for almost whole hour due to childish nature of both Soldier and the child in his lap, Jane was put to your bed to sleep for at least a couple of hours. Even after the infirmary went silent again, you couldn’t chase away your strain, constantly cautious of your phone to ring. Not because its sound would wake the kid but because it would indicate Miss Pauling to have found something on the topic.

As Soldier sat in the chair opposite to you in your office, it nearly startled you. Not the sound but rather the picture changing before your eyes.

“Hey. You’ve been sitting like this for a while,” he muttered in an unusually low voice. “How you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” you straightened up and shook yourself awake. Not the answer he expected.

“You know… I’ve been to that place again today. The one I found the kid at. Once again I jogged by the road, yeah it was a bit harder after half a day in war, but still I’ve seen no one. No cars, no notes, nothing. You said her parents would come back, all that…”

He leant in closer with a conspiracy look on his half-covered face.

“I think they’re not coming back,” he whispered. It was the first time you’ve ever heard him whisper; the sound caught you off guard.

“I’m pretty sure of that, Jane,” you grumbled in response. “Parents don’t just leave their children in the middle of nowhere. I phoned Miss Pauling and asked for help to identify her and her family… some four hours ago. Maybe more… Did you know that you two share a name?”

“With miss Pauling?” Soldier gasped.

“Nein, the child you found. The one sleeping in my room now,” you sighed. “Her name is Jane.”

“He he! She was born lucky then,” he chuckled with clear smugness. “If I had a daughter, I’d name her Jane as well.”

“Wouldn’t that be… confusing for others? To tell you from her in talks?” Hearing this, he laughed out loud, making you slap his shoulder for being too noisy.

“It doesn’t matter,” he continued in whisper just to make sure he was quiet, “it’s a mere formality. I am the greatest holder of this name in my generation, and it would be my duty to raise another greatest holder in the next one.”

Sometimes his discourse, albeit still chaotic and bizarre, made more sense than usual. Conversely, you had similar ideas back in your younger years when you still thought you’d find a loving woman and settle for a traditional family. These plans have been destroyed in a flurry of events, things, incidents, some of which tortured you in your sleep to this day, reminding firmly why you decided to never have a family of your own.

You shook your head, chasing it away. Yeah, your thoughts of a child’s name were way more average. Something that would sound good, no hidden meaning, all that. Mister Jane Doe was weirdly creative on certain things, and sometimes you envied him on that. It wasn’t required to adopt his bizarre way of thinking to get closer to understanding it; merely getting closer to him would be enough. You didn’t think about it, or maybe you forced these thoughts out of your mind – either way, you were only left to envy.

* * *

The long-awaited phone call rang through the cold walls of the infirmary long after the weird name conversation, around five p.m., as your little guest already woke up and was in search of anything fun to do. Soldier left soon after your last conversation and only came back around an hour ago; despite your weak protests, he proceeded to tell Jane about the structure and contents of a hand grenade and a rocket. It proved to be quite interesting for the kid, as she listened without interrupting and attacked with a barrage of questions each time he finished talking. You could feel how proud he was, almost like explaining all this stuff he specialized in to his own offspring. All three of you jumped at the sound of phone suddenly ringing, but you were the only one to come and pick it up.

“Medic, it’s Pauling. How are you holding on?”

“We’re…” you paused to listen to a burst of laughing from the next room, “relatively well.”

“That’s great. I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long. So, um, yeah, there are seven Jane girls in those two towns, only one of them six years old, lives with her mother. Well, lived, seeing the situation.”

“Can you notify the-”

“Police? Come on, Medic, you hurt my feelings.” A short pause. “Actually no, you don’t. Eh, you know, just forget it, okay?”

“Miss Pauling, this is all very great but-”

“I gave them a location on that exact road somewhere presumably close to your base. Send Soldier if you’re unsure, the police will wait for you there. Pass Jane to them and be off.”

“This is all very valuable information, I wouldn’t be able to do that myself,” you said warmly. “Thank you, miss Pauling.”

“Oh, thank _you_ for pointing out that you’ve got a child on your base! The Administrator would get pretty mad at me if anything happened, you know.” A short nervous chuckle. “You didn’t tell that kid about our technologies and such?”

“Of course,” you answered without a second thought.

“Then it’s all good. Good luck out there, Medic.”

And once again, you didn’t manage to say goodbye. A dove descended from a nearby locker to your table, eyeing you with usual pitch black devotion. You sighed and put the phone down. The room next to you suddenly exploded with laughing, both childish and adult; they were certainly having a good time together, how were you supposed to tell them that… it was over?

As you entered the operating room again, you saw Soldier holding several scalpels between his left hand fingers and trying to put some others into right hand, too; Jane stood in front of him, watching with excitement. Eventually he failed, causing the scalpels to fall, and while he tried to catch them mid-air, three of them sank into his right palm, cutting through: no wonder, you kept them in exceptional condition. He let out a short yelp along with the kid, but she didn’t seem scared of blood, rather of unexpectedness. What a wonderful child. Seeing you, Soldier grinned and proudly stuck out his wounded hand.

“Juggling this stuff has been unsuccessful so far,” he announced, pulling out one of the scalpels and wincing lightly. “So uh, Medic? Can you show us the healing magic?”

He poked Jane with an elbow, and she laughed along with him. By healing magic, he most certainly meant using your Medigun; you threw a pack of gauze onto his lap instead, receiving a confused glance.

“Aren’t you gonna… use the…” Soldier mumbled, staring at you and then at the gauze pack. He stood up, giving the pack to the child next to him, and you grabbed him by a sleeve and pulled him out of the room, leaving the kid in.

“Jane,” you began angrily in low voice, “do you ever use that cerebrum given you by nature?”

“I just asked you to heal me! Like you always do!” he responded in offended tone. You breathed deeply.

“This technology is a secret project. Everything here is supposed to be secret, did you even read your contract upon signing it?!”

“What… technology? I meant that trick you do with, you know… Licking.”

He blinked dumbly at you, and you realized what he actually wanted; he brought up his wounded hand, already lacking the scalpels. You huffed, put the back of his palm to your mouth, pressed your tongue against the skin and slowly slid it across. This injury was a little more serious than the one the kid received earlier today, so it required a longer exposure to saliva, but Soldier didn’t seem to mind.

“You know, doing that in front of a child might seem weird to her,” you muttered after you pulled away, watching the puncture wounds disappear.

“Licking stuff? She said you did it to her, too,” he protested, head tilted.

“That sounds… so… wrong,” you managed to utter. No really, it did sound horrible out of context. “Nein, I mean… Ah, forget it. I’ll explain later. It’s not the matter now. Miss Pauling phoned back and told me she’s identified the child. We need to hand her over to police officers.”

“And then… what?”

“Huh?” you frowned. “They’ll get the matters sorted out. Her mother will receive some sort of punishment I guess. About the kid, well, I’m not very good with this sort of affairs… Maybe they’ll have her taken away after this.”

“No I mean… uh…” Soldier lowered his chin, as if at loss of words, and looked over his shoulder at the operating room. You heard the kid inside chattering cheerfully to herself; she seemed to be enjoying her own company. Jane said nothing but you understood his quiet question.

“I don’t think we’ll get to see her ever again,” you said flatly. “I mean, the very fact of her getting here was already very… provocative, to say at least. There’s no way she gets back here.”

Your teammate turned back to you, and even though his eyes were covered by a helmet, you could clearly see the disappointment in his stare. _Oh Jane, you’ve only known this kid for a couple of hours and you’re already rooting for her so much. How old are you…_

“Don’t look at me like this,” you said, trying to sound stern. “This is not a place for children, this is war, you said that yourself countless times. She cut her finger pretty badly even though I’ve only left her for a phone call, you think she’d survive in this environment? Don’t be stupid.”

His face fell completely; he wasn’t even trying to soften you up anymore. You knew you were right, there was no point in proving otherwise, but something still scratched at your soul tenaciously.

“Come on. We need to bring her back to the road where you found her. The officers will be waiting there. And please be so kind to put on something to cover your coat symbolic.”

Contrary to adult Jane by your side, the younger one wasn’t very sad upon finding out that she had to leave. You told her she’d see her mother soon so that it would be easier for her to depart, despite this likely being a long shot. You remembered how you lied to your mother back then about similar things, only that it ended much worse, and you hoped Jane’s situation to be less rough. Miss Pauling told you to entrust the mission to Soldier since he was the one to find the child, but at the end you decided to accompany him in case he wouldn’t want to give her back to authorities. His actions were often irrational, you knew that very well; not that you were rational to the core, you just considered yourself slightly… more normal.

* * *

As you two stood on the side of the road, both dressed in dark overcoats and your young friend also wrapped up in another coat you’ve sacrificed, you stared into the horizon with a sting in your heart. Maybe your charge device started acting funny and you had to look into it in the meantime. Maybe it was actually the consequence of having a heart like all humans did. Soldier kept solemn silence the whole time, making you slightly more nervous than required. You weren’t used to him being silent. The child in his hands retained the most positive attitude out of your company. Judging by her response to the outer fields, it was her very first time outside of town; she liked it and wished she could spend more time around these parts.

When a police car appeared at the road, it felt like you were going to be hit by its quickly approaching lights. They stopped on the side opposite to yours and you've approached the car; the officers thanked you for cooperation and said a couple of words about the kid’s mother. Alcoholic, lost her driver license. According to her words, she had no more will and money to support a child so she took her for a ride early this morning and left her in hopes that she’d never see her daughter again. You were internally grateful for this officer’s decision to hold this conversation while the child was already inside their car, not standing by their side and listening; you didn’t want to let her down with a promise you couldn’t keep.

You and Soldier parted ways with your little unexpected guest in pretty high spirits despite the situation. Jane promised that one day she’d become as great in combat as (adult) Jane was, and you remembered his talk about raising another best name holder in one’s generation, chuckling quietly. Hearing this, the police officers exchanged confused glances, and before Soldier said anything wrong in response you’ve hastily said your last goodbye and pulled him to the side.

The sting stopped, you noticed as you watched the car drive off into the sunset. More precisely, its level returned to bearable. No, you really had to check on your Übercharge device.

Soldier stood by your side like an abandoned dog in the rain. He looked relatively better than back there in the infirmary when you said you needed to return the child, but still quite distressed. There was only one thing you could do to cheer him up, and you gently put your hand around his shoulder in a sort of embracing move.

“Would be nice to have a kid one day,” he suddenly spoke in a low voice. “Or kids. You think it’s ever gonna happen?”

He didn’t look at you while talking, and a part of you was thankful for that.

“Come, mein Freund. We need to check up on the Respawn system status. I still hope to set foot on the battlefield tomorrow morning.”


	6. Cold (but I'm still here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is a reference to Evans Blue song of the same name, though it has nothing to do with the plot (but the song is nice btw)
> 
> consider this an alternative route of Symbiosis second half when they all moved to Coldfront. the chapter Request also has certain influence here  
> also more mercs talking in this one! I guess comment section gave me some inspiration to include other guys, too

It’s early in the morning, roughly 6 AM and you can’t see anything past a distance of three meters, concentrated on a single thought. It’s very dark around you, as if your eyes are closed and the fact that you’re slowly blinking is a fidget of your imagination. But you are in fact blinking. It’s all real, just as real as your frozen fingers are, clutching your knees.

They took away her only source of income, cutting it short for both of you. Every next day became increasingly harder to hang on. The very fact that you sit there, shaking and barely breathing, is a miracle. She gave you all blankets and sweaters she could find and still it wasn’t enough to keep you from falling ill; your fragile immune system just couldn’t handle it. Each day that you woke up breathing was a success.

You cough weakly, covering your mouth; your warm breath scorches your ice-cold hand instantly. You got used to coughing long ago but it wasn’t something static inside your body, it was growing and each time felt more and more painful. You told her about it a week ago, but all she could do was crying. People always told you to be strong and never cry, so you didn’t cry. You tried to be the support and encouragement for the last person of your family whatever the cost. She laughed at your loud words and promises to grow up and show the world who’s the boss; it was way later that you realized why, back then you were easily offended and promised harder. You’d be a good kid. There weren’t many other alternatives.

A sound of doors rang out, shut with force. Your neighbors upstairs have left for work and you haven’t slept a second. You shiver again; it sends thousands of needles into your skin, easily reminding why it was crucial to move while being cold. It pains you to imagine that your smug neighbors have a luxury of both warm water and heating and yet they look like useless people. All they do is laugh and stomp their feet at evenings. It can be heard very clear from your stop in the basement corner. Why can’t your mother be one of them? Why does she have to spend her whole day outside trying to provide another week of life for you, all for nothing?

She was once very drunk, when still having enough money for buying alcohol, and she yelled at you the whole night before passing out. She said you were the worst thing to happen to her, and without you her life would’ve been much brighter right now. No more cold basements and picking up the pieces, no more pneumonia threat. You were a danger to her life, constantly, every day. She kept showering you with apologies the next day when she got through hangover; however, you never forgot the question you wanted to ask her but never dared.

_Why don’t you just strangle me in my sleep then?_

She wasn’t there for the whole night. Not big news for you, but you’re slightly worried whether she’ll come back. You’re hungry and pale beyond belief, though you’re unable to acknowledge the second fact since there’s no mirror in your place. The darkness seems to be growing despite the fact that it’s supposed to brighten up as the night slowly dissolves; first you could see for three meters around you, now it’s barely your outstretched hand range.

You try to keep blinking no matter how slow, but your body gives in to sweet oblivion too fast and unforgiving in its weakness. She always told you that sleeping alone while freezing was dangerous. But you don’t have the strength to stay awake anymore.

As the darkness engulfs you completely, you feel warm for the first time in very, very long months.

* * *

It’s very late, roughly 11 PM and you can’t see anything around yourself. You opened your eyes, blinked rapidly and realized that the darkness wasn’t infinite and you’re no longer freezing back in darkest days of your childhood. You’re freezing in the days of present in your own infirmary.

The surroundings were mostly grey and looked all the same, so it took you a good minute to find a light switch and put on your glasses. Good thing you kept them close to the places you fell asleep at. Everything looked like you’ve left it several hours ago while going to rest. You were almost disappointed but still grateful the dream didn’t turn out to be real. Maybe not the time to break it yet.

You swallowed hard and the lump scratched your throat violently. No wonder you dreamt about the days of unfortunate past with such a sore respiratory tract. You shivered, glancing at the barely working radiators in your small office. Its small size didn’t help in heating the air no matter how hard you tried to create a comfortable environment for yourself; ever since the central heating stopped reaching your laboratory, it was getting increasingly hard to stay here. Out of all the things you hated, cold definitely took second place after being helpless, mostly because of your memories intertwining with this feeling of being unable to change the slightest thing. Cold meant paralyzed, paralyzed in current conditions meant death.

Looking around, you could’t see a single dove from the usual ever-present flock. They must’ve been somewhere under the roof, pressing against each other for body heat… You glanced at a ridiculously big pile of blankets you wrapped yourself in each time you went to sleep and sighed wearily. Back then, when you found out you were being relocated to a significantly colder place, you were the only one not excited about it. Others probably thought otherwise, seeing you being constantly worried about others’ health condition, dressing up accordingly and heat preservation. They didn’t know what cold meant to you; they considered all this just a game to you, a game of dressing the team in funny clothing and seeing who breaks first and runs away from the overly caring team doctor.

You’d give so much for this goddamn mind reaction to let you go. You never fancied seeing dreams about your past, especially bad parts of it, and getting cold in your sleep inevitably led to the worst. Some of your studies several years ago included violent ways of removing unwanted memories and other emotion-based responses, but each time you looked back to it, it just felt… terrifying. You were never afraid of experimenting, even on yourself – that’s exactly how your passive body restoration effect was discovered. You just tended to put it off for a month… and then another month… and probably half a year would be better.

The longer you stood there, contemplating your empty table, the sleepier you became. You shook yourself awake and approached the heater in the office. It was cold and had probably been cold for a long time already. You frowned and took your winter coat off the hanger. There was still another place you could go before you either freeze to death or lose your mind.

Usually when your team moved to a different location, they distributed rooms on the base by voting; those who didn’t vote for any room were assigned to any place without their opinion taken into account. It happened to you all the time as you’ve always stayed at the facility you’ve been given for an infirmary, no matter what the chosen building used to be before. You didn’t require a room at the base like others did (save for maybe Engineer who also spent a lot of time in his workshop along with Pyro, probably most nights too) and you didn’t care where your share of place ended up, usually. However, as you were freezing in the only place that lacked central heating right now, moving back to where they put you by random was your last resort.

* * *

Turned out visiting your base close to midnight wasn’t such a bad idea overall. You weren’t the only person going to bed late, seeing Engie playing cards with Scout in the meeting room as you passed by and Heavy sitting in their company with a tiny book in his hands; the book was actually not that small, his palm size just made it look tiny. Going further down the corridor, you heard Scout exclaim something outraged, followed by Engineer’s hearty laugh. Heavy’s voice added to it, probably trying to explain the game rules to Scout but the runner didn’t seem to listen, judging by his fuming and fretting tone. Despite his colorful choice of words towards teammates, their talk sounded overall way more friendly than you’d expect, making you wonder whether you did, in fact, spend too little time with your team. Whether they called you a chunk of ice for real, not just a passing joke - because you literally froze into your place out there, cold weather or not.

Despite the loud card game in the middle of your base, it was actually very quiet around these parts. You found Demo snoring loudly in an armchair at the kitchen, and as you approached the stove to put the kettle on, someone else entered the room.

“No way… Doc, this can’t be you,” you heard from behind your shoulder, and a hand lay down on it, turning you face to face with the talking one.

“I doubt anyone else in our team would sport the same outfit, Kamerad. Save for an enemy Spy, of course.” You smiled at him, making the man visibly uneasy. Yeah, no matter how warmly you tried to smile, Sniper always looked like a startled pigeon upon seeing it. Guess it was a thing between you two. He let go of your shoulder and scratched his head.

“Nah, I mean… Seeing a Spy in your disguise here would be a more believable sight,” he said awkwardly. “You’re always out there, it ain’t often that we see you down here at the base.”

“Ja, you’re right about that,” you admitted. “I only leave the frozen throne when my pet head escapes.”

“Pet… head?”

Sniper’s face twisted into such a horrified expression that you didn’t help snorting. He always took your jokes way too serious but then again, not all of them were fully jokes.

“Relax, mein Freund! There’s no living head loose in the base.” He let out a sigh of relief and you added, “It died a week ago when I left it out in the cold.”

You coughed with chuckling when Sniper elbowed you in the ribs lightly. “Kettle’s warm?”

“Nein, just putting on.”

He nodded and sat down at the table, messing with an empty “#1 Sniper” mug in his hands. You joined him a minute later as you fished a seemingly ownerless mug out of the cupboard. It was white and clean and lacked anything that would give out its possible owner, contrary to Sniper’s; you noticed a slight crack on its side right between the hash symbol and number one.

“Did you damage your mug at some point?”

“Enemy Sniper picked it off,” he scoffed and grimaced at the memory. “Motherf… well, uh, Pyro suggested to glue it back together and here we are.”

“Oh, I didn’t know our fireproof friend was so skilled in handiwork.”

“You should come visit more often,” Sniper sighed, his fingers sliding along the crack on his mug. “Pyro makes a lot of funny stuff. You haven’t seen the plush things they carry around?”

“I… thought I imagined it,” you said, unsure. You did in fact see Pyro carry something in a pocket but you rarely paid attention to your teammates’ belongings, their well-being was top priority on the battlefield.

“The more you know. Hey, you took Soldier’s mug, you okay with this?”

“Huh?” You turned the mug around in the light one more time but it was still just a regular piece of tableware. “Why… shouldn’t I be okay?”

“Dunno, maybe you thought it was yours. It’s nothing, he doesn’t use it anyway.”

“But it still belongs to him?”

“Yeah, like… I’ve never seen him drink anything from it.” Sniper shrugged, scratching his head again in a defensive gesture rather than necessary. You two sat in silence, save for Demo’s thunderous snoring; it was becoming awkward, and Sniper continued before it became unbearable, “So, uh, why’d you come down? Must’ve been something serious for you to leave your hideout.”

“Yes, a reason most unfortunate. It’s very cold in my laboratory and I decided that I still need warmth in order to stay alive for the next week.”

He glanced at you with disbelief. “I thought you liked cold weather. I mean, even your skin temperature could freeze Hell, so…”

He obviously meant the fact that your hands always felt pretty chilly. Out of your whole team, Sniper was the one most effusive about it, especially when you tried to touch him without your gloves and he squealed like a little girl, feeling ice cold palms at his lower back. It never ceased to amuse both you and the enemy Spy’s severed head while you still had it, before its battery malfunctioned and caused the Respawn to finally pick him up. You strongly suspected Engineer to be the reason of malfunction, seeing how he expressed additional interest in the device you put that head in; maybe he fiddled with it and accidentally screwed up, but then again, Engie would only screw up something on purpose.

“Nein, Herr Sniper,” you finally answered, lowering your gaze, “my skin temperature has nothing to do with outside cold. You don’t think that someone’s overly warm skin would be a consequence of their love of hot weather, right?”

He shrugged idly. The kettle began boiling and you wanted to get up and turn it off, but Sniper gestured at you lazily and handled it himself. He contemplated his mug for a second, then scoffed and pulled a black thermos out of the cupboard.

“Hey, you okay with making tea yourself?” he called out after filling the thermos. “I won’t stay, I only needed to fill this thing. Not to be inhospitable or anything.”

“Of course, of course, it’s fine,” you nodded eagerly. He smiled and closed the lid.

“Thanks, doc. Good night.”

Before he left, you remembered the next thing you needed to find out so you called out desperately, “Wait! Do you know where you put the documents on this place? The ones we wrote down upon our arrival, sharing and so on?”

“Uh, you need to ask Truckie on that one,” Sniper shrugged, holding the thermos underneath his arm. “He was in the meeting room last time I heard ‘im. Playing with Scout so you’ll hear it, too.”

Then he disappeared, leaving you alone with Demo still peacefully snoring. You thought you wanted to have some tea for warming up a little, but in the end you felt so much warmer after seeing your team and talking to Sniper (and maybe succumbing to local heating system, too) that you put the mug aside and left the kitchen. It could wait a little bit.

When you entered the meeting room, the playing shenanigans have already died down considerably; Heavy was now sitting by Scout’s side and calmly explaining which card he should pick, and Engie watched them with a grin, sipping something from his own mug – the one you gave him for last Christmas. You gave gifts to your teammates just as often as you left your infirmary, but to compensate that you always spent a considerable amount of time figuring out the perfect gift. For example, Engineer’s mug was hand-painted with several physical equations, and though you had to correct some degrees in certain partial derivatives, spending that whole night to scrape 3s into 2s, the recipient still called your present a very heartwarming gesture. He promised to give you something special one day too although you constantly gave each other ideas for stuff that would improve your situation on the battlefield; he designed the less unstable Medigun model for you, based on the original one so that it wouldn’t overcharge on its first go, and you helped him greatly with construction of a prosthetic arm that would function fully like a normal one, save for grinding unfortunate enemies. Once you told him that it’s fine and you don’t require any kind of returned favor since he already was a great help with your healing equipment, he chuckled and promised his gift to be something completely different. Whatever he planned was still a mystery to you, probably for the best.

“Howdy, doc,” Engineer called out with a lazy wave of hand as you came closer to the table. “Fancy seeing you here, did something happen that you came?”

“Nothing grave, my friend,” you shrugged it off. He squinted at you.

“C’mon, bring it out. Did Archimedes get stuck in your stationary Medigun barrel again?” Scout snorted loudly at his words and Heavy raised an eyebrow. You sighed, smiling lightly.

“Nein, not this time. Truth be told, I haven’t seen him for a while already.” Engie’s face slowly shifted from cheerful to mildly worried as you spoke. “There’s nothing to raise your concern, I assure you. I just came to retrieve some information I needed… By the way, can you tell me where do we keep our team records? The one we usually make on the first day we arrive…”

“You really gotta connect with us more often, doc,” Scout sneered. “We stopped making them like half a year ago, it’s all in here.” He tapped his temple and turned to Engineer; the man nodded calmly.

“We’ve just talked the business between each other, that’s all, pardner. You weren’t present, I suppose?”

“I…”

“Yeah, he ran straight back to his rathole,” the Bostonian cackled, earning a light punch in the shoulder from Heavy; although light, it nearly sent Scout flying from his chair. Engie glared at him and turned back to you.

“Don’t mind the boy, doc. Guess you need some information since you came down asking?” he continued. “Clarify?”

“My… allocated place? You always had a room reserved for me, I remember, it’s just I never actually occupied it…”

“Ah, this.” Engineer scratched his bald head in embarrassment. “You see, there’s not a lot of rooms to start with, and even less of them fitted with proper heating. No one wanted to freeze, you know, so most of us share a place now. These two, for example.”

He nodded at his opponents with a chuckle. “I am okay with any room,” Heavy calmly stated, “so I share it with tiny man this time.” He then put his large hand on Scout’s shoulder in a hearty half-embrace.

“I ain’t tiny!” Scout exclaimed from under his hand. “It’s just that you’re monstrous, bear man! Let me go.”

They continued their usual friendly bickering; Engie put his handful of cards down on the table and rose from his place.

“Your turn was the last, so we put you with the only one alone. Solly.”

“Oh.”

“You look disappointed,” his lip quivered.

“Nein… not really,” you smiled nervously. “So uh, do I need a key to enter his… our room, are there any locks at all?”

“Most doors have an inner locking mechanism and no keyholes, so if he hasn’t locked it from the inside, you’re fine.” Scout bit Heavy’s palm at one point, making him let out a short groan; you two didn’t turn to see, but their bickering went on. “You sure there’s nothing wrong with ya? You look very pale. Lemme check your…”

He reached out to touch your forehead but you recoiled and moved away his hand much to his surprise.

“I can assure you I’m fine. It’s just an imperative of my soul, nothing else.”

Pale? You haven’t seen yourself since that unfortunate dream sequence, freezing in your infirmary; what if you’ve already swallowed the bait of hypothermia without noticing? But you weren’t shaking, your reactions were perfect and all. Leaving the meeting room after having received directions to the place you shared with Soldier, you wondered whether entering would be an easy task. You talked to him from time to time but his style of interaction changed greatly compared to your previous battle site, and now you had to share a room… even if for a single night only.

You knocked on the door purely out of common courtesy. No response followed, so you pulled the doorknob and it opened an abyss welcomingly for you. Stepping in, you instinctively tried to find a light switch on the wall and forgot the close the door behind you. The trick was, you found no light switch, so you had to rely on your own senses to navigate.

The room didn’t seem that big but it felt roughly the same with the kitchen – that being stuffy but still sort of chill. As the dim corridor light illuminated the entrance, you could see some details: an undisturbed bed with a shelf above though you couldn’t make out what exactly was on the shelf; a small table with various papers pressed on with something you didn’t catch and a glimpse of open closet. As you turned to inspect the other half of room, you heard footsteps behind and turned to see the visitor, none other than second room owner himself.

“Good eveni-”

You wanted to greet him but instead he lunged at you, crushing into your chest with both hands in clear attempt to knock you down; an easily achieved thing for someone like Soldier. You hit your head on the floor and your vision went dark for a split second. The moment it cleared, you saw him towering above you, your lower body trapped underneath his weight so that you wouldn’t get up, and his hands gripping your winter coat vigorously. You couldn’t see his face in the dark, but even with no light you could easily feel how his gaze burned right through you. Soldier was terrifyingly good at ambushing people sometimes.

“Blink if you’re a Spy,” he whispered hoarsely, bending over. You stared back at him for a good minute before your eyes finally gave up and closed on their own; you decided to keep them shut to stay alive. Finally, strong unforgiving hands let go of your chest, allowing you to take a deep breath again.

“Alright, fine. Smells like you,” Soldier said flatly, straightening up. “Would rather expect a Spy around here though.”

It irked you to hear the smelling sentence and you’d ask what’s that about – in usual conditions when you weren’t scared to get your head sliced off for nothing. Yeah, the Respawn still worked after the battles ended while you were inside the base, but it wasn’t a very enjoyable process to begin with so you tried your best to not tease death. It worked relatively well. Meanwhile Soldier realized he was pressing you to the floor and preventing you from standing up, so he rolled over and released you. Your head didn’t behave well after falling from your height, so you felt a little dizzy upon getting up; as you nearly keeled over, Soldier caught you by an arm and placed you down on a bed nearby.

“Are you alright?” he asked gruffly, turning away to shut the door. You gave him a perplexed but still angry look.

“I’ve just hit my head on the concrete, but that’s fine, I can handle that. Do you attack everyone who enters your room like that, or am I just unlucky?” you grumbled, touching the back of your head and wincing. At least it likely caused no concussion.

“I’m sorry, doc,” he muttered, sitting down next to you. “It’s just, you know, trust or verify. Besides there hasn’t been anyone but me for a long time. For _always!_ What was I supposed to think?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know that we shared a room.”

“You’re like a ghost around these parts, doc,” he said defensively. “A Spy looking like you is-”

“-more likely to run into, ja, I know. It’s like everyone in this place have decided to tell me this.”

Both of you sat in darkness for a while longer. You must’ve sounded pretty bitter since Soldier didn’t respond to your last retort. Usually he’d go on and on, like he could do very well with your other teammates, sometimes in a pretty pointless word fight; with you however, he tended to be less hostile and mostly even polite, if one could apply this word to him. Especially after you two quit seeing each other at the chess evenings.

“Do you always sit here with lights off?” you asked eventually and when he didn’t respond, you poked him lightly in the shoulder. “I mean could you turn something on? It’s… unnerving to be half-blind.”

He could’ve argued on that one since there were plenty of other senses to rely on, but he reached out for something on the wall and clicked it. A lone lamp came alive above your heads, giving off a pretty strong light despite being the only light source in this room. You could now see that there was in fact no switch on the wall you previously tried to examine, but there was also no lightbulb to turn on with that anticipated switch. Besides that, the other half of this room was now right in front of you, and you saw that it was absolutely untouched, a mirror of Soldier’s half but lacking any objects whatsoever save for standard bed and a chair by its wall.

“These… are mine?” you asked, and Soldier nodded. “That’s really, uh, I don’t want to make it sound offensive but… I did not expect it to be in such perfect condition. I mean there was a whole room all yours since I don’t ever visit, you could take up it all…”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he cut you off. “If I own half the room, I use what’s mine. The other half belongs to its rightful owner.”

“Nein, I wanted to say… Ah, forget it.”

Another couple of minutes passed in silence. You still sat next to Soldier and he didn’t mind it even though there was your own identical bed across the room you could sit on. You just felt… comfortable? Despite all those nights conveniently spent alone that you endured well, you suddenly felt that staying among your people could be a pleasant experience as well. That said, you’d unlikely call anyone ‘your people’ two years ago, mostly being a lone wolf like some others on your team.

“So why’d you come over?” Soldier suddenly asked, jolting you awake.

“Willing to socialize won’t work as an explanation, right?” you gave out a tired sigh, and he turned to you with a puzzled look. Well, maybe it would work if you didn’t say it out loud like this. “It’s very cold in my infirmary, nearly impossible to spend nights there.”

“No heating?”

“There was an alternate source but it ceased to function four days ago so…” you shrugged. He nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

Only after you approached your room half to examine what it had in stock for you (and turned out it was Soldier who made the bed for you long ago), you’ve had a chance to turn and observe the contents of the bookshelf above his bed. Seeing tiny handmade medals and several rockets wasn’t surprising but a small precisely detailed plush of _you_ was; you came closer to inspect it.

“Soldier? May I take the doll?”

“Take where?” he seemed startled by the request.

“I mean, take it off the shelf to inspect… may I?”

“Oh… yeah, sure. Put it back when you’re done.”

He sounded almost embarrassed while saying this, but you didn't give that a lot of thought and reached out for the plush. In your hands it felt even more neat and diligently crafted; its creator really took their time… You couldn’t even see stitches holding the details together, that’s how carefully it’s been assembled, but one thing still looked off: its left arm was stitched to body with rougher and bigger thread that stood out with its black color on white field coat. It was clearly done after the plush was finished and something happened to its integrity.

“Lovely little thing,” you said with a smile, turning to Soldier who still sat on his bed looking elsewhere. “Did you make this yourself or?..”

“Pyro did. I asked them for a pocket companion seeing how well they did other ones,” he muttered sort of reluctantly. “Didn’t you see them?”

“I… must’ve paid little attention,” you admitted awkwardly. You began feeling uneasy as more and more details about your teammates went past you, the ones that seemingly were there all the time but you were just too detached to pay attention. Or maybe you didn’t consider them worth paying attention to? Maybe you were in fact at least 3/4 ice, not a whole chunk like some thought but still…

“So, uh… did you take it out with you?” you continued with an effort to be cheerful. “I might be neglectful at times but I’m sure I haven’t seen suitable pockets on your uniform so that you could fit a whole plush inside.”

“I planned to sew an additional one… for this thing to fit in, but at the end I asked to make a less human one, and that one didn’t go anywhere too. Then I…” he trailed off as if having said something unintended.

“I’m sorry but what exactly do you mean by… less human?”

“I meant what I said. Are you done? Leave the damn thing alone.”

There were other questions you’d ask but right now it felt like you’d be forcing them onto your roommate, so you obeyed and put the plush back at its designated place. Then a random idea came to your mind; you searched your pockets for anything salvageable, found some gauze remains and reached out to put it on the doll when Soldier hit your hip with the back of his palm lightly.

“Hey. Hands off,” he spoke calmly, but as you glanced at him you saw that his attitude was ready to change any second.

“I wanted to give it a scarf,” you explained anxiously. “See, it’s winter outside and this little doctor has nothing for-”

“I said hands off,” he repeated in a more menacing tone. “Leave it as it is.”

It was the last thing he said to you before going to bed, and it left a bitter taste in your mind as if he wasn’t so happy with you being in the same room even though he seemingly didn’t mind it back when the team talked about room sharing. Then again, he knew you’d only visit with a chance of roughly 1%, what’s there to worry about… You lay on you bed thinking it over but the further you went in your thoughts, the more it burdened you and just tempted to close your eyes and go back to sleep. You took no literature or paperwork in your backpack, just some fresh clothes and a toothbrush so you could dress up and come back to your _Rattenloch,_ so you could only lie down and think before falling asleep instead of reading like you did sometimes. Soldier had been cleaning his shotgun for about half an hour after you left the Medic plush alone, then put it away and turned off the lights; you took it as a sign of day’s end.

“Gute Nacht,” you called out in the dark and received no answer, only clothes rustling.

* * *

It changes rapidly. Someone’s flipping through pages of your life up there, streaming it straight into your brain, jumping from year to year in a colorful haze. You’re sitting in front of a fireplace, hypnotized by flames and immense warmth you receive; you hear someone talking in the distance but you don’t register the exact words they utter. An elderly woman comes down and gives you a full mug of something scorching hot to your hands. She sees that you can’t hold the mug, puts it beside you on the floor and touches your hands. She then offers you to wash them with warm water in the bathroom.

It became your permanent companion since those cold winters in the basement. No matter what treatment your foster parents tried to give you, no matter which doctor they consulted, it was all the same. At least your pneumonia died down sufficiently and they did their best to never trigger it again. For thirteen years straight, your life became normal just like it was supposed to be.

Then the scenery changes, and now you are in front of an open door of your old family apartment. You see the bloody footprints coming out and down to the stairs; you noticed them two flights before. Entering feels like a risky business but you do that anyway and regret it immediately. You tread slowly and lightly, hearing liquid squelch under your soles; you turn around the corner, peek in and observe the scene.

A sickening feeling of pleasure itches in your brain, the pleasure you felt from seeing bodies dissected in university, all uncovered and detailed and weak, completely free to explore; and at the same time your morals kick in with a panic of understanding who these people lying around are to you, that you shouldn’t compare them to experiment subjects from anatomy courses, that you shouldn’t compare them to anything ever. It prompts you to break down in tears, fall next to them and lie still until someone else stumbles upon open doors, but at the same time you can’t. You feel something warm and gooey streaming down your chest, so you look down and see a large unraveling bloody stain where your heart used to be; your hand moves on its own when you reach out for the stain and press on it. Your fingers slip through the flesh and into your chest, and there’s nothing, _there’s nothing, there’s always been nothing-_

It snaps again like the next slide of a filmstrip. You see the face of a woman who gave birth to you, towering above with tears in her eyes. She looks unnaturally pale, way paler than you usually knew her to be, but you still feel warmth coming off her. Like a sunshine ray on a foggy morning, radiating with heat. She feels ten times taller than you, but you always remembered her to be small, shrinking and shivering, and now you’re not a kid, you’re exactly who she wanted you to be. And you’re shrinking and shivering in turn.

She carefully slides her hands from your shoulders up to your throat and wraps them around it in a cold dead grip. You know it’s too late but you can’t resist staring into her, through her, slowly siphoning life out of you and watching you like she always did. With love and admiration.

“Cold hands, warm heart,” she used to say when you complained about her touch feeling too cold for your skin. She keeps repeating it now, strangling you and crying, her tears just as scorching on your cheeks as her hands on your throat. She does this out of love, out of guilt and of course out of infuriation.

Her grip constricts further until your carotid arteries are too obstructed and you begin to cough violently while passing out.

_I love you I love you I love you I always loved you and I will follow you into the dark-_

* * *

You still felt the ice cold grip on your throat although in reality those strong hands were holding you by shoulders and shaking you awake. They weren’t cold, they were burning through your bare skin, and though you kept your eyes closed to stay safe in your mind bubble, you still saw the darkness around shifting into gray colors. The lights were on.

“Hey. Hey, look at me! Open your damn eyes, don’t make me do it for you,” you heard Soldier snarling, evidently the one holding onto you. He was well capable of forcing your eyes open with his own hands, so you obeyed. The lights, though pretty dim, hit your eyes but confusion from waking up didn’t help you stop coughing, and you still struggled to breathe for unknown reason.

“C… can you…” you wheezed, not sure what instructions you should give. Dyspnea wasn’t new for you to experience, especially after dreams like these, but you always managed to take care of yourself… and usually it wasn’t burning your throat with cough you couldn’t get rid of. You felt a wave of cold air hit your bare shoulders and visibly shivered; Soldier must’ve noticed this as he instantly pulled your blanket off the bed and wrapped it around you, sitting on the floor.

“Close the window?” he asked in a low voice. You tried to nod but literally your any motion could be interpreted as nodding. He shut the window, cutting off the draught, and you immediately felt better – if not physically then mentally for sure. Cold couldn’t reach you from anywhere else. You still shivered hard as hell and couldn’t get a grip on your breathing though.

“I asked if you were alright back then,” Soldier muttered, coming back to you and dropping down on a knee. “Did you lie about it? Are you ill? You look like a freezing mongrel, you know that?”

All those questions rang hollow in your head; even a person like Soldier came to this conclusion at some point. In a futile attempt to bring you to your senses he shook you by the shoulders one more time, gaining nothing; then he sat down on the floor next to you, unwrapped your blanket and hugged you, as if his embrace alone would be enough to warm you up even better than blankets and clothes. And however absurd it might sound, it helped. Better than anything. It’s been a very long time since another living being touched you skin to skin; you could honestly only remember sexual interactions of this kind, buried in your memories so deep you struggled to retrieve them.

His hands were unforgiving and his embrace was manly and relentless, making you fall into a warm abyss of someone’s company. It was simply too hard to resist when you lacked proper shoulder to lean on; of course you could recover from shortage of breath on your own, but you felt so protected now that you never wanted to be alone in that condition again. You felt almost drunk.

It was silent for a very long period of time, only interrupted by your occasional wheezing or choking on your own breath. Slowly but steadily, your heart rate and composure returned to normal, or at least what you could consider normal, and your breathing stabilized, chasing your cough away and finally allowing you to take a deep prolonged breath.

“Can you talk now?” Soldier asked without a warning, startling you out of silence, and you nodded weakly. “What the hell was that? Are you actually sick or does this happen everyday?”

“I… don’t know what exactly you mean. Can you tell me how it looked? From your point of view?”

“You were breathing hard in your sleep. Really hard. Wheezing I’d even say. I thought you needed air, opened the window, but it became even worse. So I woke you before you died in your sleep or whatever.”

“I see… You shouldn’t have opened that window, mein Freund,” you responded with a sad smile. He finally pulled away and placed your blanket back around your shoulders. It was obvious that he waited for an explanation but you just didn’t know how to start. “I… assume you can keep a secret?”

“You’re sick and you don’t want others to know,” he said sternly, and you nearly laughed at how absurd it sounded.

“Nein, not at all. Well, it’s… complicated.”

He raised a hand at you and then got up on his feet. It happened so fast that it somewhat frightened you but he announced, “I’ll bring you something hot. Then we’ll talk,” and left the room.

In half an hour, the two of you sat on the floor again but sharing a mug of tea this time. Soldier asked to take a sip from it from time to time and you wondered whether he understood you well about being not sick in terms of common cold or he was just too confident he wouldn’t get sick too. Either way if you actually caught a cold, it would’ve affected him ever since he had a close contact by cuddling so drinking from the same mug wouldn’t make a difference.

“I really, really hate the cold,” you started after emptying half the mug. Soldier smirked at you from under his helmet.

“Who doesn’t! People are weak, they tend to die at lower temperatures.”

“It’s not the… well, actually it _is_ partially the reason for my hatred,” you admitted. “I had a very… unfortunate experience in the past regarding low temperatures and lack of proper heating. My hands are still cold as the result of prolonged exposure. Sometimes when the air around me is chilly, my dream sequences take most unwanted turns, something I’d really like my mind to forget. But the mind never quite forgets, it just dampens the knowledge.”

“So you’re having nightmares while sleeping in a cold room?” Soldier asked with slight confusion. You nodded.

“It’s exactly why I came here. I can’t stay at my infirmary knowing full well that my sleep is going to be horrendous.”

He kept silence for a minute, processing your speech.

“It’s… weird. But let it be,” he finally concluded and took the mug out of your hands for another gulp. “After all, this room belongs to you too, you can stay here whenever you want.”

“I hope I haven’t startled you out of your sleep tonight,” you said quietly, taking back your tea.

“Nah, I wasn’t really asleep.”

“Do you also have trouble sleeping?”

“No.”

It was such a stern-sounding word that you instantly realized he was lying. You decided to come back to it later and concentrate on something else, some other topic to talk about; looking around the room, you noticed that the plush you previously put back on the shelf was now sitting peacefully on Soldier’s bed, smiling with that little menace in its button eyes. It was now however wearing a piece of team-colored fabric around its neck, just like your wanted to do with gauze remains, but you admitted that a colored ‘scarf’ looked nicer on the doll than white one.

“May I ask you about something?”

“Yeah,” he groaned unenthusiastically.

“Why did you ask Pyro for a small copy of me? Two copies even, I heard you say.”

“I saw them carrying pocket Engie around. Thought about having a small teammate, too. Friend, maybe.”

“Nein, I mean… I’m not the only one in our team you’re on good terms with… I hope. But you chose me, so… was there any exact reason?”

He fell silent for a very long time. You managed to finish your mug of tea and he still hasn’t responded; you resisted the urge to turn and look him in the eyes, but at the end you just turned to him without additional actions.

“If you don’t want to answer-”, you began but he cut in abruptly.

“I don’t know.”

“Elaborate?..”

“There’s no reason. I tried to think it over just now. I don’t understand, I just… thought why not.”

“That’s very much like you,” you muttered softly into your blanket.

“I know.”

It amazed (and amused) you sometimes how simple and straightforward he was. Others would probably send you to hell with your questions, but he actually tried to process his motivation and find a rational seed, even though unsuccessfully. He sat so confused and alienated now that you almost felt bad for asking him to address his motives.

“Could you make more tea… bitte?”

He glanced at the empty mug in your hands, scoffed and took it away, then rose to his feet and left the room without closing the door. As if he was happy to leave this place he shared with you for at least a while. Without someone to lean on, you threw your head back on your bed, staring at the wooden ceiling above; the picture bored you pretty fast, and even though you could swear you wouldn’t want to fall asleep right now, your eyes slowly closed on their own.

* * *

It’s an unbearably bright Sunday morning, and you’re finally free from home care. You lost track of how long you had to spend isolated from anything but your foster parents and self-righteous doctors they hired, so you’re really happy to stick your nose outside. You see a couple of kids running around in the yard; you remember how you watched them play with a crowd of others, but it’s too early in the morning for a mob to gather. So you try your best to make friends with those who came.

They like you, and it’s such a new feeling. Usually everyone just turned their noses away when they saw you, frail and underfed, coughing like a tuberculosis patient, at those rare occasions you left home. And those two boys pull you into their little chalk game. You ask for rules and they laugh, saying it’s very popular and that you need to learn it asap.

You saw more children, and they were all so cheerful and full of life, contrary to you. Some of them said that you looked like a dead kid, especially after being touched by you. Everyone was very warm, almost hot to your always cold hands, so after a while you stopped touching anyone at all.

You feel it again; the summer breeze on your face, the sun blinding you mercilessly. You got used to dreaming about your childhood because those were the most lighthearted and happy years of your life. They visited your mind from time to time, bringing a tint of bliss into everyday routine. And they were all constant. All the same. You liked it when your mind didn’t play tricks on you, this selfish idiot. But this time you open your eyes and realize that it’s right back at it again.

A deafening yell pierces the air, and you see another kid enter the yard. He looks just like everyone else with a single addition of a steel bucket on his head; it has a mortise at his eye level, but the bucket slides over constantly and most of the time he fixes it, holding a crudely made slingshot in another hand. You’ve never seen this kid before and you’re most certainly sure he wasn’t present in your memories; however, there he stands, still yelling and attracting others.

He reminds you of someone distant and yet well-known. The crowd drags you in, whooping and cheering, as the outsider tells the rules of a game he just came up with. It’s rather hostile in nature, mostly consisting of ‘kill’ and ‘capture’, but you relax visibly after he mentions that if by rules you are ‘killed’, you are sent to the base where you ‘revive’ yourself and try again.

It’s all a blur to you. The first round where you’re easily outrun and tackled because of your frail physique; and the others, too. Somewhere in-between you suggest to include a ‘healer’ position for both teams so that they wouldn’t waste so much time coming back and forth from revive area, and that scrappy child isn’t happy at first but gives it a try anyway. You’re immediately given a ‘healer’ position as the author of this idea.

You’re really, really tired and out of breath. This game is very exhausting for you, but other kids still give you a helping hand when needed and act as a team. A real team. You’re surprised to see them being so supportive and how they all enjoy a new game brought to their group by a total newcomer. No one even asks what his name is, they just all call him Commander for his unspoken leading role. By the end of final round, he stands hand in hand with you surrounded by enemy team members, all marked for ‘death’, and you’re holding a bright blue shirt that enemy team captain took off; your rules obliged leaders to use their shirts as flags in capture-the-flag scenario. This unknown kid is head over heels with excitement. He throws your hand in the air, still holding it tightly, and proudly announces loud words.

_You deserve a medal, doc!.._

* * *

The dream ended abruptly when you realized that someone shaking your hand was not the bucket-wearing child but another person from real world. You opened your eyes, waving an arm lazily in a sign that you were already awake and no longer needed external influence.

“I brought you tea. There, on a chair,” Soldier said in low voice and pointed to the wall somewhere near your bed. “You fell asleep again, was it alright? Your breathing sounded funny again but better than the last time.”

You wanted to tell him so much. That you were happy to see someone caring about you in a situation you always handled on your own. That you were happy he didn’t push you away or call you a freak for your mental shenanigans. That you were glad he was honest – well, mostly honest – with you and himself. You felt your face slowly beginning to burn and put your hands to your cheeks like you always did to cool down, but to your astonishment they didn’t feel cold at all. A little chill comparing to your face but definitely a lot warmer than you got used to.

“I’m…” you paused at loss of words, “warm… I’m… I can’t believe this!” Soldier looked at you with indefinite expression and you put your hands to his face, too. “Can you feel it? Tell me you can feel it!”

“I can feel your hands, that’s true,” he responded, still confused.

“Mein Gott, you don’t understand! I’m… they’re warm again! I can’t remember the last time I was this warm! It’s all you, it’s a miracle, my friend!”

“I did nothing,” Soldier said with growing puzzlement and was _so deeply and utterly incorrect,_ you thought with a mist of dizziness in your head, obstructing everything, everyone. Like a drunk haze, except that you’ve been fully sober for several years. It’s been so long since you felt the urge to actually hold someone so close, feel them, embrace their existence and just…

You leaned in closer, almost holding your breath; your faces were now right in front of each other. A moment of hesitation, and you moved forward, tilted your head and gently pressed your lips against his, tightly shut. It only lasted for a couple of seconds, but you could feel through the touch how tense he was, almost trembling; you on the contrary felt absolutely calm and relaxed as if lightly tranquilized. Pulling away, your hands still on Soldier’s face, you waited for his reaction with an intoxicated smile.

“You’re… actually sick,” he spoke several long seconds after, looking away in embarrassment. “No way you’d do this in normal condition…”

“I’m just very glad you’re here with me. I’m… expressing… gratitude.” Your supply of deliberately chosen words started to run thin, and before you said or did something you’d regret even more than kissing someone because you were happy to have them by your side, you wrapped up in your blanket again and switched to the only words clearly shaping in your mind.

“Danke, mein Freund, danke schön, danke schön…”

He made a deep breath, and instead of walking away he pulled you closer, tucking you into his chest and lightly patting your disheveled hair. You felt like a child in the middle of the night, embraced by your foster mother in attempt to soothe your nightmares and chase away the anxiety. It was in fact very similar, though Soldier wasn’t your foster mother and you were no longer a child; deep inside you, there still lived a kid, scared of cold and dead hands of his past coming at him from the corners of his mind.

“I may be sick indeed,” you spoke with a guilty chuckle. “I feel quite feverish.”

“Maybe that’s why your hands are warm now,” Soldier muttered, lowering his head.

“Nein, don’t talk rubbish. I’ve experienced fever already and at most times it helped to press an ice-cold hand against my forehead, you know.”

“Okay, fine, you’re better at feeling stuff like this, I guess.”

“And you’re not afraid to fall ill too?” you teased. He scoffed proudly.

“Common cold is nothing for me. You know I can handle everything!”

“Natürlich, natürlich…” you murmured, half-muted by your blanket.

Only with your increasing sleepiness, inflicted by fever, you looked at the wall clock and realized that it was in fact very late, actual middle of the night. You drifted off slowly in Soldier’s embrace and he didn’t seem to mind, enduring a probably uncomfortable position with diligence.

It sounded soft and almost soothing through your half-sleep when he spoke, “I’m… also glad you’re here with me. Grateful, too.” Then he paused, probably realizing that you could already be asleep, and added quietly, “Sweet dreams, doc.” If there was anything else, you couldn’t catch it already.

* * *

The loud kid with half-obstructed face sits on a bench next to you now. You didn’t notice the moment when the dream sequence began; your mind just placed you in a situation and left you like that. It was totally unfair.

He lifts the bucket from his head, finally opening up to you. He doesn’t really look like locals to you, and you know why, it wasn’t hard to understand. But your dreaming mind can’t tell reality from fantasies, so you just sit next to him, watching him fiddle with his slingshot.

“You’re not as fragile as you look,” he says in the middle of peaceful silence. “Are you a bookworm or what?”

“I was locked up for a long time because of my coughing,” you explain simply because the word pneumonia could be unknown to the kid. He grins at you.

“No big deal. We can make it together, you know. I’ll make a good fighter out of you!”

“Thanks but I don’t think I need to-”

“Listen here private, everyone needs to know how to fight. If not for your own good, then for your country! Are you proud of your country?”

“I… think I am?” you answer in unsure voice. The kid grins even wider.

“I knew we’d get along. Together, nothing will destroy us! You’ll see.” He puts the bucket aside and holds his hand out to you. “To a start of great friendship!”

He looks exactly like you’d expect Soldier to look some thirty years ago and it warms your heart just like his presence warmed your whole self. Even though this is nothing but a dream, you thank your mind for enriching your usual sequences with something new. You smile at the kid’s reckless nature, turn to him and shake his hand.

“Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh is it a LESS BITTER ending? how come!


	7. Mutual Assistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's little to no actual smut but a lot of details of foreplay because I love foreplay  
> I also don't really write porn but I do enjoy describing all the sensual details so it's an awkward attempt to keep E rating the mildest possible

Every time he invites you over, you’re unsure what to think. Two years ago there weren’t a lot of activities for you to share and/or enjoy at both ends, but ever since your mutual tendency to pull closer had unraveled, the list grew considerably. He stands by the gates, fixing his shirt collar. It’s very warm outside and he’s also very lightly dressed; one would say – on purpose.

You step into the bear trap and it closes around your hips as he slides his bare hands across your sides. Inside the infirmary, it’s always very cold as if the good doctor is himself the source of everlasting chill. You were never afraid of the cold, neither environmental nor his own. Your hands mirror his actions but he hisses almost inaudibly, “Remember what I told you.” And you obey like a student, correcting your movements to a slightly different angle so that your palms embrace his back now. He seems satisfied as he leans in closer and kisses you on the cheek.

“Operating room or office?”

It’s almost always the operating room because you simply don’t make it to the office which is a place farther into the infirmary. So you don’t answer and just pick him up in a swift motion. You know he likes it when you do this; you also know that he hates being thrown in the air but this particular action is different, completely suitable for the strong man you are.

As you reach the room filled with medical equipment, all buzzing and beeping, you reinforce your guesses about the reason of today’s invitation. Not that him hitting on you right after entering wasn’t a clear hint, you just liked proving your own guesses right. The surroundings were put in an order you rarely saw without it being on purpose, clearly to avoid someone incidentally hitting their legs on a piece of furniture in process.

You put him down on the table gently and undo a couple of buttons at his shirt collar, then loosen his tie just so you could open up his neck a little more. He’s warm, a lot warmer than your teammates would ever expect him to be; always the Snow White King of his own frozen throne, now squirming and moaning quietly under your lips. It didn’t take you long to find out how much he loved neck kisses and you shamelessly took advantage of it ever since.

“You’re a good learner,” he murmurs close to your ear, so close that it sends shivers down your spine. “You’ve really grown since then.”

He refers to the first time you got under his shirt and it was in fact highly uncivilized, clothes ripping and stuff. You remembered very well how he shouted in defense, “This is not how you handle a partner!” and then thoroughly explained to you what exactly a woman would expect from a man who wants a closer contact. You listened eagerly; it was you who initiated the whole thing after all, even though you covered it with a ‘how to be a good partner in bed’ justification. Medic was curious. That’s exactly what you expected from him: scientific interest and lust for research on his own comrades. Maybe lust for something else, too. That was something you’d find out later as you progressed.

He’s not only warm, he’s also very soft underneath his usual battlefield wear. As if blood fresh out of wounds gave his skin sort of nurturing effect. The first time you felt him you spoke up about it in amazement, and he laughed and then explained it to happen because of his passive self-regeneration. You didn’t know how it worked and you don’t know still; it doesn’t prevent you from touching though, further loosening his tie and taking it off, then fully unbuttoning his shirt to bare his shoulders. Starting with left one, you continue kissing him, slowly sliding down his neckline, lower and lower while you undress the other shoulder. You remember how your touch used to startle him. Too harsh, too attacking maybe. A week ago he teasingly called your hands as tender as his own, and it felt like the best praise you’ve received in years. He kept repeating it throughout that whole evening, mixed with moans and exhales of pleasure. You did a good job listening to his advice.

A proper gentleman shouldn’t get into his girl’s panties fifteen minutes into foreplay, but today something feels off; maybe it’s the way Medic trembles under you, making you disobey the usual etiquette he taught you and tug at his belt. It doesn’t go unnoticed as he immediately places a hand over yours on the buckle, tilting his head forward to look at you.

“Not… just yet, bitte,” he whispers hoarsely. His breathing sounds funny when he’s turned on, you noticed it every time. “Keep it up just a little bit more.” So this time you obey. Understanding is the key, he kept telling you from the very beginning and he tried really hard, knowing your tendency to disregard most of outside information about emotions and putting yourself into someone’s shoes in particular. His patience paid off along with your cooperation out of fierce desire to become closer, to get under his skin and make him beg for more.

You run your palms across his bare chest, a bit disoriented of what to do next; he leans in and helps you out of your clothes too. Not that you couldn’t stand a sexual act fully dressed, but you don’t interrupt. He said before that it’s not just about you touching your partner that can turn them on, it’s also your partner touching you in return. People often touched your chest (although dressed of course) in heat of battle as you ran out of ammo and proceeded to tear through them with a single shovel; arms flew, severed and limp, and enemies pushed you away with their bare hands as their often last mean of defense. It wasn’t helping them and you felt giggly when they fell dead, but it certainly wasn’t the same as the touch of a sexual partner. You couldn’t quite tell your feelings on this one but it didn’t feel bad, that’s for sure. And then Medic pulls you closer and presses his lips against yours, wrapping his arms and legs around you, and all thoughts are instantly banished from your head by slightly bitter but fruity taste of his mouth. Wine?

“Are you drunk?” you mutter with audible displeasure once he draws back, and he tilts his head.

“I’m fully in control of myself, if that’s your concern.”

He’s never drunk, that’s the matter. You got used to it like you got used to his accent ever since you’ve first heard him talk. The change of scenery is weird when talking about him and it irks you. Still, in the middle of all this you can do little about his condition. He watches you for several seconds, waiting for your response; when there’s none, he leans in and kisses you again, considering this called for. He tastes better now, most likely because your taste buds adapted to the bitter taste of wine; you lack this idea because all you can think about is how velvet he feels on your tongue. It’s almost incapacitating.

His turn now to get closer to your vital regions, and he unbuckles your belt with a lazy clank. He can easily feel how hard you are at the moment but he doesn’t head right in, he stalls for time and strokes you shamelessly, making you low-key wonder why he kept you from doing the exact same thing. He seems to catch the confusion in your stance and explains sweetly, “You know you need to deal with the top partner’s erection first? It’s the working instrument of future process.” You nod slowly and he smiles in response, further intoxicating the air. All this painstaking foreplay is too long for you even after months of self-training; you’d just tear into him like you did with food or enemies only that your emotions about him were a mix of the two. You want to devour him, crush and destroy him to the core – but with passion and pleasure so that he’d beg for you to come back. And he does: in your arms is the proof. He knows very well what you desire and that he needs to take your traits into account just like you do with his; so he steps forward.

“I say we speed up the procedure a little,” he says with a tricky smile and comes down to his knees. The next thing you feel makes you remember your earlier musings about his lips being too soft and tongue too moist, but in a different place this time. He learned a lot since your first experience together, too. No more teeth and rubbing on dry skin; his mouth feels like an oasis, that’s the closest you could get taking both pleasure and moisture into account, and you weren’t trying to be creative in description while talking to Medic. You spoke in your earnest and he received pure experience without having to elaborate.

After a couple of minutes his pace gets so fitting that you allow yourself to put your hands on his head – not to speed up but to show affection and stroke his disheveled hair in attempt to help. He doesn’t take it the same way though, instead slowing down and stopping completely after a couple of moves, releasing you from his mouth with a soft pop. Even like this, drool over his face and cheeks all red from rapid breathing, he looks beautiful.

“Don’t go too fast, we’re still in the foreplay stage,” he says slyly, his hands still around you in full control. “Remember where I keep the lube? Could you find it while I undress, bitte?”

Every time you fuck him feels special, as his self-regeneration allows him to be tight and untouched as you stimulate him again, soaked in lube. He squirms and hisses in pain but allows you to continue, and that’s a regular thing to happen, too. He’s not a fan of rough starts and you have to contain yourself on the first go, driving in slowly and feeling him constrict around you, quivering and whining, taking in your length. But you know he likes this exact size, you just have to be patient.

He blossoms like a flower, slowly into the process with steady thrusts and kisses to his neck, the most sensitive part. The sounds he makes, the way he wraps his trembling legs around you, the smell of cologne mixing with sweat and wine and sex… It drives you crazy way faster this time, setting you completely off the rails; roughing him, you move closer to his neck again and he holds his moan for a second waiting for a kiss, but you dig your teeth into flesh like a hungry animal on a hunt. It’s certainly less wild than actual hunt but you can’t help the bloodlust, the desire to engulf him and just swallow him whole. To own him. He screams in both pain and orgasm, and your bodies are so close that you can feel him culminate; you press yourself against him and the throbbing goes through your stomach with slick warmness splattered around you both. He still breathes like a fish out of water when you keep pounding him, clearly very close as well. As you come, he stokes your chest gently and then your head as you collapse down on him – not out of tiredness but rather to have yourself caressed like a giant cat.

“I was fast today,” you hear through a haze in your mind. “This doesn’t usually happen.”

He sounds almost disappointed with himself and there’s nothing you can add but truth.

“We’re both fast today, doc. Don’t… kick yourself over it.” You look up at him with a lazy grin. “Besides we can give it another shot later today, eh?”

His expression is indefinite but most certainly positive. He throws his head back and laughs, “Oh, the woman of your dreams will be so happy with you.” It makes you remember a glimpse of your cover story and wonder, honestly, why’d you need to dream of a woman with Medic right beside you.


End file.
